


The Deadbeat

by cbstrike



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Awkward Tension, Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Gen, Introspection, Light Angst, Morning After, Mutual Pining, Post-Troubled Blood, Romance, Sex, Skippable Smut, Slow Burn, Smut, Texting, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 48,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cbstrike/pseuds/cbstrike
Summary: A curious card arrives in Denmark Street for Cormoran Strike, taunting him with exposure of a secret to which he has no recollection.Despite wanting to investigate what it could be and how his ex Charlotte Campbell is tied into it, the agency’s current workload is also making it impossible for him to investigate or have much of a social life.Juggling an agency that has never done better, and personal lives that have never been more complex, both Strike and his partner Robin Ellacott attempt to find a balance, but soon realise nothing is ever easy.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 127
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

_But he'd just stand there,_  
_little smile on his face..._  
_not say a word. Sexy._  
  
Tracy Letts  
_August: Osage County_

The waiter had asked what they were celebrating as he poured Dom Perignon into two champagne flutes. “A 30th birthday!” Cormoran exclaimed, grinning at Robin who grinned back.

“Happy birthday!” said the waiter cheerfully at Robin before walking away, leaving the rest of the bottle in an ice bucket for the pair to help themselves.

“How’d he know it was you celebrating your 30th and not me?” Cormoran joked, feeling light and giddy even before he took a sip.

“He must be a detective.” Robin dead-panned before sipping her champagne, looking beautiful in the restaurant’s soft lighting.

He leaned back his chair, just looking at Robin who was just looking back at him. It reminded him of that night at the office when he thought they were mere heartbeats away from saying words that couldn’t be unsaid, crossing lines that couldn’t be uncrossed.

They sat there in silence, sipping their drink, enjoying each other’s company unlike how they enjoy other people’s company. They seem to be in sync this glorious night, coming to the same soft realisation that seeing each other naked at some point is a foregone conclusion, and chances are likely that ‘some point’ is here.

It didn’t feel as terrifying as it had five months ago, when it was their dark office instead of this bright restaurant, and it had been whisky plying them both with dangerous courage. Now it was champagne echoing, not dark allure, but excitement and celebration.

The soft jazz playing in the restaurant transitioned into a sweet melody that made Robin smile. It sounded dreamy, like a waltz under a star-strewn sky.

 _You’re in my arms, and all the world is calm  
_ _The music playing on for only two  
_ _So close, together. And when I’m with you  
_ _So close to feeling alive_

Robin started giggling, which made Cormoran chuckle, too. “What?”

“I don’t know,” she said, still giggling.

 _A life goes by, romantic dreams must die  
_ _So I bid mine goodbye, and never knew_

Robin was feeling the overwhelming urge to be affectionate. To say hilarious and bold things like, _I like you_ , and _this is the best birthday_ , and _I really want to kiss your face_.

And then she spotted it, the light lipstick mark she left on his cheek.

“You’ve got lipstick on your cheek.” she said, not really pointing to where it was exactly, but only sipping some more champagne.

 _So close was waiting, waiting here with you  
_ _And now, forever, I know_

“I know.” he said, not moving to wipe it away, merely looking at her and sipping his drink. He liked knowing it was there. Enjoyed the thought that if people saw it, and them, they would make the clear deduction that she had made her mark on him, and there was nothing truer than that.

 _All that I wanted,  
_ _Was to hold you so close_

The champagne was easing the confines of where each held dangerous thoughts about the other at bay, releasing them as though bees whirring inside their minds. Unbeknownst to the other they had the exact same thought: _all or nothing, see what happens._

Beating Cormoran by a hair’s breadth, Robin asked, “D’you want to get out of here?”Her voice so soft he barely heard it.

“God, yes.” Cormoran immediately replied.

They stood up, Robin holding out her hand and he took it as she pulled them through the restaurant and into the expansive lobby heading for the doors.

For one insane moment Cormoran wondered how much an overnight stay at The Ritz will set him back. Chuckling, he decided instead on a different alternative. He tugged at Robin and pulled her to him, searing their lips together.

There weren’t very many words between them from The Ritz to Robin’s flat, as though they were both in a fragile bubble neither wanted to burst. It was a bit of a mad rush to Robin’s bedroom, and as she stopped mid-step to turn back and press her lips so urgently against his that he nearly toppled over, it occurred to Cormoran that they had finished their champagne, and were probably drunker than they realised.

When they were in her room, Cormoran grabbed Robin by the waist and spun her around to face him, and he felt gratified that unlike Saul Morris he hadn’t been stomped on and given a whack on the nose. Instead, Robin raised her arms to wrap around his neck, pulling him open-mouthed, practically shoving tongues down each other’s throats.

Neither of them wanted to fanny about setting the lighting, and under bright fluorescent he first saw her naked body. Young and unblemished and fleshier than he had been expecting. He liked it better, he thought, enjoying how his fingers indented on the flesh of her thighs like they were a Bernini sculpture come to life.

It was fucking hot to see her writhing and arching to get a good angle, to see her breasts bounce with every thrust, to see the point of their joining in full brightness and vivid color, not even bothering with covers and the dark.

“ _Jesus, Robin!”_ Cormoran whined, as she raked her fingers down his hairy chest and belly before touching herself and closing her eyes at the sensations of coital bliss. She barely made sounds, only stuttered breaths until her hips starting quickening encouraging speed, and he heard soft quick groans matching the rhythm of their bodies. She clasped her mouth with her hand when she climaxed, but Cormoran pried her fingers away, bending forward to devour her mouth as he kept going to take his turn.

Climax brought Robin only the relief and pleasure that even she sometimes took from sex. It had been two years since the last, and even longer since it felt good.

But this, now, is terrifying: this immediate aftermath of coming down and realising acutely that Cormoran’s large limbs and naked body was blanketing her own. That she had just had sex with her best friend and business partner. She could feel his heart thudding hard against her chest, feel his hot breath against the side of her face as he steadied his breathing.

Her own feelings were a confusing, horrifying jumble of ‘ _what have I done’_ and ‘ _effin finally_ ’ and she tried to fight her sudden wave of panic with the elation that was there, too. Not sure which emotion was winning out, she slipped for the bathroom the moment he moved off of her and tried to sort out for herself if they hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

They were in sync even on this, with Cormoran trying hard not to chastise himself for indulging on the drink and the moment that allowed for this to happen. Now spent and sober, he could see their mutual recklessness like a tangible object in Robin’s brightly lit room.

He felt utterly grateful to her for the sex, the same way he couldn’t believe his luck whenever he took stock of Charlotte’s beauty and body and how he was permitted to touch… _holy shit, Strike!_

He sat up, pulling his boxers on, his undershirt, suddenly feeling inappropriately too naked; like Adam of Eden waking up to sin.

Robin emerged from the bathroom, now in a nightshirt, a little relieved to find that Cormoran was no longer naked either. But the headiness of just a few minutes ago seemed to have now disappeared, only to be replaced by a stark and palpable awkwardness not made any better by fluorescent light.

They stared at each other from opposites of Robin’s bedroom, both waiting on bated breath, wondering what will happen next.

Unsure now of everything that just happened, Robin recalled the ending to the song playing at The Ritz.

_So close. So close. And still so far…_


	2. Chapter 2

_An awkward beat._   
_The men glumly put_   
_their suit coats back on._

Tracy Letts   
_August: Osage County_

When they arrived in Denmark Street the next morning, Robin slumped heavily onto the outer room couch, feeling the mighty urge to scream into a pillow or bash her head against the wall.

If she ever had a morning more awkward, she’d love to be reminded.

 _Good going, Robs_ , she chastised herself, trying not to relive the last eight hours. Except there was literally nothing else to think about. She wished there was some clock the agency was up against right now, wished they had been so swamped with work that the partners wouldn’t have had any time to muck around with each other. Maybe, maybe then she wouldn’t have her face now buried against a throw pillow strangers sit on, because she wouldn’t have done what she thought all along was a bad idea.

 _Why are people like this?_ She thought rather desperately. Why do people, despite knowing full well that some things ought to not be done, do them anyway? Why do we insist on learning lessons the hard way? It’s a bloody cliche for a reason, that whole ‘don’t sleep with your business partner’ thing. Many other women have slept with their business parters and learned this very lesson so she wouldn’t have to. But no, she had to see for herself to believe it to be true.

 _But what was so bad about it?_ asked this other part of her that was confused over her all-consuming guilt and regret. _What was so bad?!_ she thought back hysterically, recalling how they’d had to awkwardly lie next to each other anyway because for him to leave or for her to send him away would’ve been irrevocably catastrophic.

Upstairs, being blasted by his cold shower, Cormoran wished he was bathing in a stiff drink instead. He didn’t want to clear his mind even more. He wanted the bold haziness of being drunk, so maybe he wouldn’t remember everything about last night with vivid clarity.

If he ever had a more awkward night, he’d love to be reminded. He saw it on Robin’s face when she stepped out of the loo that they just made a huge mistake. And despite that, they had to lie next to each other anyway. He knew offering to leave would hurt her—and he didn’t want to do that—just as well as knowing if she sent him away, he’d be equally hurt. It seemed easier, then, to stew in the awkwardness and lie, clothed, side-by-side pretending to sleep under bright light. Robin didn’t seem to think shutting the lights was smart, and on balance, neither did he.

He had squeezed himself at the very edge of her bed. There was no sleeping. There was barely the closing of eyes, because whenever Cormoran closed his eyes for any length of time, he remembered what she looked like as he… _motherfucker_ , he thought, lightly banging his head against the bathroom wall.

And then there was that morning, when Cormoran sprang up as soon as Robin headed for the bathroom. He didn’t want to get dressed before she did, didn’t want her to think he was eager to leave.

The crazy thing was, he didn’t want to leave _her_. He desperately wanted to be out of the prolonged awkwardness of last night, but if it was just Robin, if it was just the both of them and nothing has happened…

It was only a quarter after 7 and Robin wondered if Vanessa would be up to have breakfast with her. She wanted to talk to someone. A lady someone, just for… she didn’t know, but that’s what women did, isn’t it? Talk to girlfriends about awkward sex stuff?

“Hey birthday girl, what’s up?” said Van’s friendly tone on the other line.

“Hey Van, busy this morning? Can I take you to breakfast?” Robin asked, supposing Van would think she’d be asking about a case. This time, she was the case: _the basketcase_ , she thought dully.

“Sure. Got a free morning anyway. I can be around your place in thirty—”

“We can just meet near the office.” Robin interjected. “More convenient for both of us. Say Cafe Nero at St. Giles in fifteen?”

“Alright, see you!” said Van and hung up.

Just setting the breakfast made her feel immensely better.

A little over having to walk on eggshells around Cormoran, she grabbed her purse and decided to wait for Van at the Cafe instead.

They ran into each other at the landing.

For a split second, Robin thought of fibbing, thought of saying that she and Vanessa had planned on this breakfast. But she wasn’t going to fool him, and she didn’t really want to.

“Having breakfast with Van,” she said.

“Ah,” said Cormoran.

“Want me to get you anything?” she offered, which was new, because she always got him something if she was getting food and vice versa. She need not have asked.

“No, that’s okay.” he said. “You go ahead.”

The second Vanessa sat on the booth in front of her, Robin blurted out: “I slept with Cormoran.”

Vanessa froze, eyes growing wide with shock, mouth sort of blubbering figuring out what to say. “I—I’ll go get coffee.” she said, standing back up again to go up to the barista.

“Ugh,” Robin whined, slumping into her seat and sipping the large sweet macchiatto she ordered because she wanted some comfort.

“ _Robin!_ ” said Vanessa when she came back with her own cup, eyes still quite wide with shock. And then, looking at Robin with some concern, “What’s wrong?”

“Unhh,” she whined some more, bumping her head against the table.

“It was awful?” Van asked, surprise in her tone as though it hadn’t occurred to her that sex with Cormoran Strike could be awful.

“What? N-no.” said Robin, sitting up, a little distracted. And then Vanessa’s face cracked into a wide grin. “It was great, wasn’t it?” with a non-too-subtle hint at teasing.

Robin thought for a moment, realising that she hadn’t considered the quality of the actual sex itself. With the aftermath of it being so disastrously awkward, it seemed nearly besides the point.

Robin walked her through what happened before—taking her to shop for perfume, drinks at The Ritz--and finding it a little unhelpful, the way Vanessa was cooing over those details. Yes, that _was_ sweet. It _was_ romantic, but also besides the point, Robin thought.

And then she gave no details about the sex bit, simply because she doesn’t think that was anyone’s business, and then told her about everything that came after.

“Well, what did he say?” Van asked.

“What do you mean?”

Vanessa’s eyebrows knotted. “What did he say?”

“What do you mean, ‘what did he say’?”

“I mean, what has he said since, you know, _after_?”

Robin thought back, trying to remember what Cormoran _had_ said.

When she exited the bathroom last night and found he had put his clothes back on, the room kind of warped with this awkward energy that didn’t lift. And then they laid together, Robin squeezing at the very edge of her own bed, back to him, just _thinking_. And then she rose up to shower, and when she’d showered and dressed, he was also already dressed. And then they got in the Land Rover and rode in awkward silence to Denmark Street.

Neither she, nor Cormoran, had said anything. Literally not one word. And she was surprised that she hadn’t noticed, because she had been so hyper-aware of his presence and the awkward balancing act they were doing all night and this morning felt akin to constant, tense, communication to her.

The only actual words Cormoran had said to her was, “That’s okay, you go ahead.” when she told him she was going here to meet Van.

“How do you two run a business together, not talking?” said Vanessa, shaking her head in disbelief.

This has happened before, as Vanessa well knew. This happens a lot with her and Cormoran. Usually, it was because trying to get Cormoran to say things is like trying to get blood out of a stone, but she supposed she also has a tendency to make assumptions first.

“Babes, sleeping with a mate is always awkward.” said Van with an air of assuring sympathy. “Talking makes it less awkward—or more awkward. It depends, really, how the talking goes.”

“Hm,” said Robin thoughtfully. Vanessa was right, obviously. But the idea of talking is so uncomfortable and awkward that she wasn’t really looking forward to it.

“Robin,” Vanessa started, looking thoughtful. “Do you like Cormoran?’

“What?” she asked back, breaking ito a surprised laugh. “Of course, I like Cormoran.” It was a little ridiculous even to have to say it.

“No, I mean, do you _like_ him? I know we talked about it when you told me about your ex and the corals, but, do you want to be _with_ him?”

Robin stopped short. She remembered that conversation she had with Vanessa nearly two years ago. She remembered not coming to any firm conclusion then, terrified of the answer either way. She was married, there was the business. To allow herself to affirm what she was afraid she was feeling for Cormoran would mean realising exactly how hard her life had become: marrying a man she didn’t love and working with one that she did.

And then her thoughts went back to last night, and the light-hearted, cozy feeling of shopping for perfume. It wasn’t something you did with a mate. Not even your best one, especially if you had the same history they did. She had wanted him to help her pick, not at all because he was paying for it, but because she actively wanted to smell of something that pleased him.

But Vanessa, Robin realised, was asking the wrong questions. She obviously liked Cormoran. She was even—she took a deep breath, bracing herself—in love with him. But even if she did want to be with him, it wasn’t that simple. He’s not just some cute boy at the church picnic. If it was only her feelings that were on the line here, she’d willingly gamble them, frankly. But could she bear it if it didn’t work out--because when does it ever—and it ruins the work for her?

She loves her job, but part of loving the job is because she’s doing it with him.

Her divorce had been difficult, even if there was no child to fight over. What had been the stakes then with Matthew, really? A decade spent and some money? Laughably little compared with the agency she and Cormoran have built, and the partnership between them that made it happen.

But then, if she really did love the job above even the person, would she have allowed last night to go as far as it did?


	3. Chapter 3

_It’s not a party_   
_until someone_   
_spills something._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Cormoran could feel his entire body stiffen when he heard the dull click of someone holding the doorknob. It was five before 9 AM, it could only be one person.

She poked her head in first, like she was unsure she was permitted to enter her own office. And Cormoran still felt that lightening of the world that he feels whenever in Robin’s presence. Her effect on him bewildered Cormoran somewhat, because it didn’t matter if she was the cause of his agitation or anxiety or fury; seeing her made him feel better, full stop.

She wordlessly walked to her side of the partner’s table, plopping a coffee and a sandwich in front of him.

“Thanks,” he said. And with the subtlety of a burst dam, “Dinner.”

She looked up, looking stunned.

“Er, I mean, would you like to go to dinner? To, er, talk?”

She exhaled, and Cormoran noticed she looked as tired and under-slept as he felt. “Okay. Yeah.”

They could actually talk now. There really wasn’t anything pressing at work right now. But seeing as it was this damned agency that’s making things complicated and awkward, he supposed broaching the subject here was unwise.

Also, he doesn’t really know yet what he wanted to say. Or what he wants to happen, for that matter. Other than wanting for this awkward air between them to dissipate. The last ten hours felt so long and stretched that he missed her. Missed the Robin that was so pleased at his effort last night, she kissed his cheek.

“Tonight?” he asked.

And then she looked up at him, looking surprised and then amused, cracking into a smile so pretty, he felt winded. “We _are_ going to dinner,” she said half-laughing. “With our mates.”

“Shit, yeah!” Cormoran’s eyes widened, remembering. “Sorry—“

“Did you forget?” Robin asked, sounding now like herself again.

“No, I—”

But then she was laughing, and she was so at ease and amused that he started laughing, too.

Robin kept laughing for awhile, burying her face in her hands, shoulders shaking clearly no longer just laughing about him forgetting her birthday dinner tonight. She must be laughing at the very unfunny predicament they’ve landed themselves in, which was so serious and reckless, he also had to laugh at the absurdity.

Afraid she was now actually sobbing, he nearly reached out. But she gave a great sigh and showed her face then, eyes a little wet but clearly still smiling. “Oh, Corm,” He didn’t think she’s ever called him ‘Corm’ before.

Her eyes fell to his and the look on her face—her eyes are near turquoise in this light—told him she was sighing for all of it. Last night and this morning and whatever it meant and all the consequences it now put upon them. And he understood it all, because he felt it too: the inexplicable, undefinable panic and regret and terror that they had fucked royally up. But even with this, he took large comfort that he wasn’t alone. That he had Robin to share in the unease and awkwardness.

And then quite suddenly, he was filled with the same wild abandon that had him contemplating asking a newly-married woman to run away with him in her wedding dress. Cormoran understood something crucial about last night: that it hadn’t been all or nothing. It had been champagne-induced birthday sex between two horny people who wanted to sleep with each other.

But this, now, is terrifying. _This_ is all or nothing. He was about to lay it all out on the line, unsure of what will happen next but about to do it anyway.

He didn’t know how his face must look, but she suddenly looked serious. Expectant. Waiting.

Every bollocks thing he thought he wanted—the solitude, the freedom and unattachment, the bullshit about how love never works because he’s never seen it work (“ _Strike, that’s just bloody self-indulgent!_ ” Robin’s words echoed in his ear)—he understood now that they were all excuses because this exceptional woman who held a unique place in his heart had been painfully unavailable.

But now…

All or nothing. See what happens.

He leaned forward, feeling as though, again, like a trapeze artist on a platform about to make a terrifying jump—

Cormoran slammed his fist on the table, startling Robin and they both turned to face _effin_ Pat who decided to walk in at that very second.

“What?” he said, unable to mask his agitation. He should really stop attempting professions of love at the office. That’s 0 for 2 now. He wouldn’t be surprised if Andy ends up interrupting a proposal.

“Alright, I knocked!” Pat slung back. Cormoran hadn’t heard it, but he supposed she did.

She handed him a stiff cream envelope. Glossy, the sort used for wedding invitations.

On the backside, it had his name in elegant script.

He glared at Pat as he moodily opened the envelope. Whoever the happy couple are is getting fuck all as wedding gift.

It was a card. The front bore the phrase, ‘I know your secret. Your dirty little secret.’

“Thanks, Pat.” he heard Robin say and heard the door click close again.

Opening the card, a photo fell out onto the table. Inside it said, ‘How much is this secret worth to you?’

He laid the card face up on the table and took the photo in hand.

It was clearly from CCTV footage, although the timestamp and geolocation had been cropped out.

The photo was a nondescript street lined with a few cars. Cormoran could tell it was night because of the faint green hue quality of the photo, telling him the night vision was on. It was empty save for a figure of a woman, in head to toe black, the end of an umbrella poking between her folded arm, heading towards what he couldn’t see, but she had her head turned, angled towards the camera, as though she was checking she wasn’t followed.

The photo of the face wasn’t clear at all, but he knew Charlotte far too well that even as this blurry and still figure, he had no doubts whatsoever.

He handed Robin the photo, watching her already reading the card.

“What does this mean?” she asked.

“No clue.”

Unsurprisingly, Cormoran was late. But it was not too bad this time, possibly because Robin herself was running late and they had met in front of the restaurant, arriving precisely at the same time.

Tonight, Robin wore a bright red mid-length dress. She’s a very pretty girl, no matter how she looked, but when she cleans up, she’s a knockout—something Cormoran fully realised as he saw her walking towards him as they headed from opposite sides of the street.

He got to the door first and stood there waiting for her, her strides small and quick in high heels. _I pulled that last night_ , his baser self thought before he could help it.

“You clean up nice.” she huffed, a little breathless. “They’re gonna think we arrived together.”

 _I hope they do_ , Cormoran thought. “You look beautiful.” he said it quite easily, because it was a fact as real and as simple as the moon overhead them.

“Thanks.” she smiled, looking pleased.

Robin felt lightened. It didn’t feel awkward anymore. Except she could see a hint of Cormoran’s thick chest hair under his deep red button down and his bare torso presented itself to her as though she suddenly got x-ray vision.

Bowing her head because she didn’t want Cormoran to realise she’d blushed, she allowed him to pull the door open as she stepped inside ahead of him.

Not seeing their dinner party, they headed for the upstairs, but led away by a waiter who was hurrying down with an empty tray. “Closed party, sorry.”

“Might be ours.” said Cormoran.

The waiter looked at Cormoran then Robin then stepped aside. They were about to head up but was called back by a different waitress who finally told them where they were meant to go.

Turns out, their dinner party was in a small enclosed room in the downstairs. They were already complete and making noises of “There you are!” and “Finally!” as they approached.

“Sorry I’m late!” said Robin as she went around the table to give everybody kisses. She made a point of apologising only for her own lateness, which was separate from Cormoran’s lateness, which she had nothing to do with.

And yet, Ilsa still asked, “Where had you two been?”

“I came from home,” Robin clarified. “You can’t do surveillance in this dress.” and then she turned to Cormoran who sat beside her (their friends made sure they had no other seating options). “Michelle settled in okay?”

“Who’s Michelle?” Ilsa asked accusingly to Cormoran, as though he wasn’t allowed for there to be a Michelle.

“Our new subcontractor.” Robin explained. Michelle was supposed to start next week, but had been amenable to starting tonight instead to cover a surveillance opportunity when the rest of the agency was at this dinner other than Pat who had family over.

“Arrived late which is why _I’m_ late.” said Cormoran, wanting the table at large to know he had made an effort. “But seeing as she agreed to cover the agency short notice, I’m not taking that against her.”

“Yeah, Michelle is great you guys!” Vanessa insisted. She had seemed invested in Michelle’s hiring from the first, as she was the one who made the referral.

Conversation moved away from work soon after that. Dinner was largely delightful, free of unease or anxiety or awkwardness. Everyone got Robin presents, even Max’s boyfriend Richie who Robin only met once before. A set of oil paints because she jokingly said that she had no time for hobbies, but if she did, she’d take up painting.

Cormoran was the only one who didn’t hand her a wrapped box or paper bag from a fancy shop.

“Again, Corm?” Ilsa scolded, as though she had raised Cormoran better than that.

“But Cormoran did get Robin a gift!” Max exclaimed coming to the rescue, although Cormoran was trying to catch his eye to keep him from saying any more. “Drove up the house around 4 AM yesterday to drop it off before I left for Oxfordshire.”

“You went to Earl’s Court at 4 in the morning to drop off that donkey?” asked Robin, turning to him in surprise. She tried to control the grin forming in her face at the effort, and the sheepish look on his face. Wildly, she wondered what the people at the table would do if she suddenly kissed Cormoran’s cheek. Ilsa’s head will probably explode.

“Donkey?” Sam asked, face contorted with mild disgust. “An actual donkey?”

“Balloon.” Cormoran grunted, though that didn’t seem to explain it.

“In a Box.” he added.

Saving him, Robin told them that the Bamborough case took them to Skegness, and that they had seen some donkeys while there. Cormoran thought he knew why Robin lied, she was throwing Ilsa off the scent. The way Ilsa was scowling at him told Cormoran she thought a gag gift might be worse than flowers or unwrapped chocolates. Smirking to himself he thought: _if you only knew how far that donkey got me, mate._

“Oh, yes! Those donkeys!” chirped Louise, Andy’s wife, who mentioned that her family also made that trip once or twice in her youth.

Robin’s new friends around her, all met in the last four years, showed her how different her life had become since moving to London. It also showed her that she had built something with these people, when she once thought her future had been forever stunted when she walked down the wrong stairwell one night.

As her friends sang her a happy birthday, she felt happy and thrilled and grown-up and—from under the table, she felt Cormoran squeeze her hand only to withdraw before she could squeeze back—loved.

Robin remembered her cousin Katie’s words just then: _“It’s like you’re traveling in a different direction to the rest of us,”_ but as Robin blew out her candles and felt Cormoran’s heavy arm around her back rest so everyone could squeeze in for a photo, she thought back: _so effin’ what!_


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm not hooked_  
 _on anything._  
  
Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Dinner was meant to be Nick and Ilsa’s treat, but they got Robin a handbag that even Cormoran knew was a luxury brand. Cormoran now felt that these sorts of things are something he ought to do for Robin. _He_ was her best mate and business partner and a third thing to her he hoped to be defined. Though of course if he had known he’d decide to foot the bill, he’d have chosen a less expensive restaurant.

But the agency is doing extremely well, and he still felt guilty over the many special occasions he had fallen short with Robin purely because he was deliberately pretending to her and himself that his feelings were completely platonic.

He excused himself, pretending to head for the loo, but really headed to the hostess station to hand them his credit card.

“Oh! Looks like you’re all set,” she smiled at him after he told her which party he wanted to pay for. “Really?” he asked, surprised. Had Nick or Ilsa left their card when they arrived?

The hostess smiled again. “Compliments of Mr. Rokeby.”

His knee-jerk reaction was fury, but then he remembered how the last two times Rokeby made him furious, he ended up hurting Robin.

Taking a deep breath, he muttered. “I’ll be paying for it, thanks.”

The hostess gave him a knowing smile, as though she was expecting his reaction. “Mr. Rokeby said you’d insist, but he gave us strict instructions to tell you that his siblings don’t pay at his restaurant.”

No longer angry but still annoyed, Cormoran rolled his eyes to step out and light a fag.

He rang Al, who answered on the first ring. _“Didn’t I tell you babe?”_ he heard his brother speak from a distance before going, “Knew you’d ring! How are the oysters? Told them to get you the oysters, they’re imported straight from—”

“You didn’t have to do that.” said Cormoran, though not meanly.

“Don’t want anything from me, too?” Al asked, sounding a little testy.

_Not really_ , Cormoran thought. “It isn’t my party, Al.”

“Jacinda said it’s your girl Robin’s 30th, yeah?”

Jacinda must be the hostess. “Yeah. But seriously, Al. I’m paying—”

“Drinks, then. Let me get drinks. Not taking no for an answer, bruv. Eddie threw a bloody party there last week. Cleaned me out and didn’t pay an effin’ quid. Bastard’s worth more than dad and he gets me back just ‘coz Walker and I—”

Cormoran rolled his yes. “Yeah, okay. Drinks. Thanks.”

Cormoran was about to hang up when Al called him back, “Bruv! Now that I have you, fancy a drink this weekend? Got some big news I want to tell you. In person, preferably.”

When Cormoran didn’t respond, he continued. “Go on, bruv. That whole mess last Spring is water under the bridge. This is something else, now.”

“What else?”

“I’m getting married!”

“Congrats.” Cormoran replied automatically.

“Thanks. Would mean the world to me and the missus if you can make it.” said Al. “Bring Robs along.”

Cormoran noted that Al called Robin ‘Robs’, despite them meeting all of one time three years ago. He clearly thought they were together and Cormoran found that he didn’t want to correct Al.

“It’ll be at the end of the month. Halloween-themed.” even Al smirked when he said it.

“Christ.” said Cormoran. “Where is it?” he asked, half hoping it would be overseas so he can say no flat out.

“Oh, just at this nightclub in Soho. Cirque Le Soir. I’ll mail you the invite.”

A Halloween-themed wedding in a nightclub told Cormoran the future Mrs. Al Rokeby must be some 19 year old lingerie model. “Right.”

“But I’d really love to have that drink, bruv. Text me when you’re free this weekend.”

“Okay.”

“Tell Robs happy birthday from me.”

And then Al hung up. Hoping his half-brother wasn’t pushing for a face-to-face to ask Corm to be a groomsman, or do a bait-and-switch for Rokeby, he went back to his friends. In his absence, he saw that the dinner party was passing around a bottle of champagne. He noticed Robin hadn’t touched her drink, so neither did he.

Robin laid in bed, thinking only of Cormoran and how despite the godawful start that morning, the world did not end and the agency is still standing. Sleepy and a little heady with wine, she’s starting to forget again why it was so bad for her and Cormoran to date. They just don’t have to break up, is all. She managed 10 years last time. She can beat that high score easy.

Her phone buzzed. She was in such a rush to see if it was Cormoran that her phone slipped her fingers and collided painfully with her teeth. “Ow!”

Gums still throbbing, she looked at her phone. It was Ilsa who messaged, but it was just to send her a photo taken of that night.

She smiled at it, feeling very fond of everyone in the photograph. She zoomed in on her and Cormoran, whose arm was over her backrest so they could all squeeze in for space. She also remembered he squeezed her hand, not really the sort of signal you give someone you regret sleeping with.

_We look good together, don’t we?_ Robin asked no one in particular, staring at both of them from her phone. His deep red button down seemed a bit matchy-matchy with her bright red dress. She really liked how Cormoran looked. Distinct-looking. Attractive in an almost literal sense. He _attracts_ women, making them want to be around him. He’s not at all the sort of boring-pretty boy sculpted at the gym. Pretty boys who are dull as rocks would probably send dick pics at the mildest provocation.

She wondered idly if Cormoran has ever sent a dick pic, and then she cackled to herself at the very idea of it. Would he send her one if she asked? Business partners should _definitely_ not solicit each other for photos of erect penises.

She put the phone even closer to her face now, permitting herself to recall the sex that was had last night. It had been great, she thought as she smiled at the memory. Now wriggling a little as she recalled how he licked his lips as he stared down her body.

Drunk, lonely, and worked up, Robin wished Cormoran was with her now.

Thinking dully that business partners should _definitely_ not be sexting, she nevertheless sent:

> **U up?**


	5. Chapter 5

_I almost blew it last night._   
_Are you mad at me?_

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Miles away, Cormoran was staring at the photo Ilsa had sent of the night, thinking for the first time in awhile that he quite liked how he looked, arm around Robin and managing a smile for once.

He had also been somewhat agonising over what happened last night, and this morning, and what he nearly blurted out before Pat interrupted them.

He’d been vacillating between just bloody going for it and leaving well enough alone. They’d slept together, and it was great, and the world didn’t end and the agency didn’t explode. Why tempt fate?

_Because I bloody want more of it?_ he grumbled to himself stubbornly. But also, it was inaccurate. He didn’t just want more of it (sex), he wanted all of it (everything else). And then predictably, he starts thinking that it will inevitably go to shit, and when it does, he’d be left miserable, alone, and definitely worse off than when Robin first met him.

But also, not for nothing, he was a soldier. And a detective. And a progeny of Leda Strike. He had survived bombs and punches and knives and even a bite to the face. He wouldn’t call caution his strongest character trait. He understood the sexy allure of risk. He knew that stakes, when they’re high enough, aren’t scary but actually titilating. He’s never felt more alive than right before heading into a ring, or barging in to confront a killer, or jumping in a tank headed for combat.

He’d bet on Robin before, hadn’t he? Offered her partnership mostly on potential and passion for the job. And where had it gotten them? Only turning his moribund business into the best detective agency in London.

They’re a winning combo, him and Robin. And if he just isn’t the luckiest bastard in the world, they’re even compatible in bed!

He remembered that night last Spring when she said she didn’t want anything that will again make her choose against the work. Isn’t that his exact same complaint of paramours? That they don’t understand the vocation?

But mostly, nothing lifts his spirits better than hearing Robin’s voice. And these days, that was reason enough for him to think: _fuck it, I’m gonna ask her._

> **U up?**

Cormoran bolted up, blinking at Robin’s message. He’s not what you would call abreast with the trends of young people, but even he could deduce what this means.

Smirking, he replied:

> **Go to sleep. x**

Not five seconds later, she called. Cormoran was so surprised, his phone slipped and made a nasty sound as it collided with the floor. Thankfully it wasn’t broken. There’s a ding though, but that doesn’t matter right now.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, trying to sound breezy.

“Hmm,” she sighed. “Thanks for dinner.” She sounded sleepy.

“You said that already.”

“Hmm.” then she said, “Thank you for smiling.”

“What?” he chuckled. He tried to remember how much Robin had to drink tonight. He didn’t think it was a lot, but maybe two nights in a row made her more drunk faster?

“In the photo. Ilsa’s photo.”

“Oh.” he said, and because she complimented him, he returned it: “You looked beautiful tonight.”

He laid back in bed, phone pressed in his ear, determined about two things: one, that he will not hang up, and two, that whatever happens, no matter how much he wants to, even if she invites him, he will not leave his post.

He was so very tempted, though. It was delicious to think that she obviously wants him again. Tonight. Right that very second. But having her in his ear, and missing her company, and knowing her well, he knew she was not the sort of woman you add to a rolodex of booty calls. She, to him, is all or nothing.

“You said that already.” she said somewhat breathily and Cormoran closed his eyes at the image of what she could be doing right now, how she must look, what she could be wearing.

_What are you wearing,_ he wanted to ask, but he had said: “Well, I meant it.”

He wasn’t ordinarily this loquacious, keeping his unprofessional opinions of her well-guarded. But no point now, really, having had her bared beneath him last night.

For a few breaths, neither of them spoke. The sound of Robin’s breathing was telling him she was falling asleep. He, on the other hand, was growing more awake by the second. Other parts of him most awoken now by this current turn of events.

“Corm?” He jolted from the reverie of remembering Robin’s perfect body. Thank fuck for the lights. Thank fuck for his impeccable memory. 

“I’m here.”

For a moment there was just her breathing on the other end.

“What if….” she sighed.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice soft and quite opposite from the loud thudding of his heart. If she asked, if she said any string of words that meant for him to go to Earl’s Court, Masham, the bloody Moon, he’d come running.

But that had been it. She had fallen asleep in earnest now, but he stayed on the line just listening to her calming breathing. He was reminded of all the other times it had been Charlotte at the other end, bored and horny and sad, always leaving him just a bit more damaged that he was before he picked up the phone.

But this was different.

Robin is so, so different. He listened to her soft sighs and took it as balm for all of what Charlotte had put him through, how she had made him listen, helpless, as she tried her damnest to hurt herself beyond his reach.

By the time Sunday rolled around, Robin just about had it with birthdays. Her entire family surprised her from Masham, bursting into her flat Saturday morning. Needlessly, she thought, as she was seeing them again in a few weeks for her parents’ 35th.

Apparently—and to Robin’s mortification—they asked Max behind her back if it was alright that they set up a brunch (complete with decor) and for Jon and Mart to stay over the weekend. She had no idea that Max and Jonathan kept in touch since his visit, and are now quite chummy.

She tried to apologise for her importuning family and her importuning Cormoran who all decided to lavish her with unnecessary attention on this milestone birthday. But he assured her that it was fine, that her parents seemed like great people, and her brothers handsome, and her niece adorable.

“What would you have done mum, if I was working this weekend?” Robin asked, unable to contain the annoyance she felt that her family barged into her London life without warning.

“On your birthday?” her mum half-laughed.

“It isn’t my birthday anymore,” Robin suddenly felt a shiver all over her body, remembering what her 30th will forever mean to her now.

“How _did_ you spend your birthday?” Linda asked her daughter, which Robin correctly interpreted as, ‘What have you been getting up to with Cormoran?’ she bit the smirk threatening to come out of her. If her mother only knew. Flashes again. Suddenly, Robin remembered the feel of Cormoran’s stubble against the flesh of her thighs.

She might also be regretful over this visit because she had to cancel on that Dinner with Cormoran where they were supposed to Talk.

Robin shrugged. “My friends threw me a dinner party last night.”

“That’s nice,” said Linda absently.

“Did Corm-O get you anything fancy, Rob? You guys must be loaded now, with all the crimes you’d been solving.” Martin quipped. More flashes. The look on Cormoran’s face as he stared at her across the table at The Ritz.

“Hey Rob,” said Stephen, walking up with Annabel whom he changed in Robin’s room. “Can Annabel have the balloon? She really—”

“No!” she said immediately, startling her family. “Er, it’s for work.” she lied, thankful that she’d taken Cormoran’s card for safekeeping.

“What, does it have drugs inside or something?” Martin joked.

“Robin!” Linda exclaimed, scandalised. “It doesn’t have drugs!”

“No, it doesn’t have drugs! What do you think I do, mum? It’s for a case I can’t discuss, alright? Mart.” she added her brother’s name so her mum doesn’t think she was being curt to her.

She tried not to think too hard about how she, a 30-year-old adult, had denied her infant niece a balloon. But what was Annabel going to do with it, really? Giggle? She giggles when you tear a piece of paper in front of her.

They had dinner as a family, too. At yet another smart restaurant with free-flowing wine. Remembering how she had drunkenly called Cormoran last night like a lunatic, she desisted. Even if he assured her she hadn’t said anything to be embarrassed about, she saw what she texted and was properly mortified. Although there was a chance he might not fully understand what that had been.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” her mother asked, failing to unmask her implication.

“I’d been drinking two nights in a row.” she sighed. “Bit over it.”

“Lightweight.” Martin coughed. She rolled her eyes.

“I thought you didn’t do anything last Thursday?” her mum asked, and Robin stilled. She half wondered if she inherited her interest in deduction from Linda, she was so quick on the uptake.

For one wild moment she thought about coming clean about last Thursday, just to see how her mum would react. _Oh, didn’t I tell you mum? Cormoran bought me perfume, took me to The Ritz, and we fell into bed together._ It sounded ridiculous enough that Linda might think she was joking.

Her mother was still staring at her, expecting some assurance that she hadn’t done precisely what she did on her birthday.

“Da… da.” The whole table turned slowly to wriggly Annabel in her booster seat, making a mess of her mashed potato and shrieking with glee upon realising she got everyone’s attention.

“Da… da!” she repeated. And then did—what even to Robin was so amazing, it was magic—a turn to Stephen. “Da da!”

Stephen, who Robin rarely saw cry, burst into tears. So did Linda, and Jenny who seemed to look proud and also crestfallen. Robin was laughing to herself, feeling cozy for the first time that weekend to be surrounded by her family. _What impeccable timing, babe!_ As she watched Stephen smother Annabel with kisses, and despite the fact that she was her _only_ niece, Robin considered her her favorite.


	6. Chapter 6

_That’s not a good idea,_  
_for you and Charles_  
_to take this any further._

Tracy Letts  
_August: Osage County_

The weekend went by slowly for Cormoran, who had nothing the whole of Sunday and packed it with little chores just to make the day go by quicker. All they had were surveillance work, nothing mentally occupying enough to take his mind off of Robin.

There wasn’t even boring admin work, with Pat staying on top of things with the same copious and careful attention to detail as him and Robin. She’d even sorted out Barclay’s paperwork. On ordinary days, Barclay’s poor filings were a bit of a nuisance for someone like Cormoran, Robin, and Pat who liked things ordered. But now, Cormoran was annoyed at _Pat_ for doing the fixing for him when he was desperate to be distracted.

He even hoovered. But hoovering only cleared his mind to focus on Robin. Which was usually a great thing, but this weekend he missed her. He usually misses her if he was being honest, but then it was of a quality of a pleasant thought that crossed his mind. Today, it was an ache. A want that was quite physical.

He didn’t even bother not thinking about the sex, which accompanied him quite pleasurably last night. But then he started wondering if he’d ever had that chance again, and then remembered how the air between them had curdled into awkwardness.

He could’ve said something. He could’ve done something. Distract them both from thinking of consequences. Touched her more. Prolonged the champagne dream for at least another round or something.

Last night, Cormoran was firmly on the, ‘I pathetically fancy you, I’ll try my damnest to not be a prick, please will you date me?’ camp and had been prepared to say it had their dinner push through. But it got cancelled with her family arriving from Masham and taking that as a sign, Cormoran is back to being of two minds.

He pulled a legal pad and scrawled a pros and cons chart. In a shorthand only he understood, he listed why it would and wouldn’t be a good idea to date.

> **PROS** | **CONS**  
> ---|---  
> \- both single | \- agency (legal, financial, etc.)  
> \- understand work scheds | \- bad idea?  
> \- Oct 9th | \- too old for her (?)  
> \- fancy her loads | \- grumpy bastard (me, not her)  
> \- knows me best | \- best mate (bad idea?)  
> \- best mate/person | \- too risky...  
  
He thought for a moment, sighing and then glaring at the clock that told him this took him all of 2 minutes. At the very end of the pad, under the ‘pros’ column, he scribbled: _want to_.

So back on ‘Pathetically fancy you. Will (try to) not be a prick. Please date me.’ again. As for what he thought Robin felt, he couldn’t really say. Could go either way, knowing her.

He took his phone to scroll through their messages. The ‘you up’ last Friday still made him grin whenever he came to it (he’d been scrolling through these exchanges a lot). He looked at the photo from Robin’s dinner, thought about how in all the years they’ve known each other, this was the only photo they’d ever posed for together. He wished there was more, but he also thought he looked trollish next to Robin who was in every sense of the word, physically attractive.

They hadn’t communicated much this weekend. She texted that her family was in town, he said he supposed he’d meet Al then. She asked how it went last night, he said it wasn’t an ambush. She had wished him good night, with a kiss. He had sent her a good night, with a kiss. He asked her what she was up to that morning, she sent a photo of her baby niece whose face was crumpled and red and looked like screaming bloody murder.

 **Bad luck** , he replied. And then that had been it for the rest of the day so far.

He went on Facebook (which he really only uses for work) fully aware he wanted to see more photos of Robin _like a pervert—_ but her display photo made him laugh. She changed it to the donkey balloon.

It was half-past seven and Robin was already on the Tube, headed for work. Her weekend had been busy, but she thought there was kind of a weird _thing_ between her and Cormoran. It was only a couple of text messages that really didn’t look like much. But good nights with kisses aren’t the sort of texts you send a man who is just a business partner and friend, right?

She felt bad at cancelling their dinner that weekend, and was surprised that she felt bad. She found that she wanted to see him, even for a talk that was causing her some anxiety. Kissy good night text messages also didn’t indicate they were going to decide last Thursday was a mistake and they ought not to do it again.

But to be together, _properly_ together, would be risky. He could infuriate Robin like no one she’d ever known. But she’s also never had a friendship like the one she has with Cormoran: where she found that they were compatible on the most surprising things, on things that mattered.

The horrifying awkwardness of last Friday morning also dissipated almost immediately. They’d stayed angry and awkward for longer and for a lot less than a night of unwise sex. Why isn’t it a bigger deal, she wondered. Why didn’t it feel like their relationship had been dislodged and disrupted? If anything, it’s as though it ushered them in a new stage in their, ehm, _situation_. Like an interim mutual understanding before… before what?

Robin tried to recall when things just stopped being bad and turned into okay. She’d gone back to the office after breakfast, he’d made her laugh by forgetting her dinner party, he’d looked at her…

She remembered the look on his face, remembered seeing it before: when they pulled away after they hugged at her wedding, when he thought of asking her to run away with him so loudly, Robin thought she could almost hear it.

By the time she was on the Northern Line, she had a different thought: that for all of the things that she remembered about her birthday night, she couldn’t quite remember what it felt like to kiss him.

She remembered how the stubble of his cheek felt against her lips, remembered the feel of his own lips on her cheek when he said hello. They definitely kissed plenty. She definitely remembered mouths on mouths and the sensation of tongues about…

She closed her eyes trying to feel one kiss again. It was close, like a hard to find word at the tip of her tongue.

Cormoran could hear the outer doors open from inside his and Robin’s office. He checked the time. 7:30. Only Robin would be this early on a Monday. He felt a wave of excitement at the thought that Robin was nearby. That they’re about to see each other. She’s going to open the door, say ‘Hiya!’ and—

A knock. Robin wouldn’t knock.

Cormoran stood up to open the door, and then took a large step back as he realised Michelle had been standing quite close to it, holding a tin containing a small bouquet of assorted roses.

“Oh,” she said, and even in this one syllable her Australian accent was pronounced. “Sorry, I was just going to leave—” she said very self-consciously, stepping inside the inner office when Cormoran stepped aside. She seemed to teeter between which side to put down the flowers.

“Left side.” said Cormoran, assuming that the flowers had not been for him. “But she doesn’t like flowers.”

“What?” Michelle asked, large eyes already magnified by her large glasses growing even larger.

Cormoran shook his head. “Joking.” Too early and too new for jokes, he thought.

“Oh. Right.” she sighed with relief. “Van said it was Robin’s birthday last week.”

“You’re early.”

“Yeah, well, I was late last Friday.” she shrugged, smiling.

Awkwardness. But nothing like the awkwardness he’d endured last week with Robin. Michelle seemed like an awkward sort of young woman. She was, well, _tiny_ , Cormoran thought. And quite plain but not in a bad way or anything. He didn’t need his subcontractors to look like supermodels. Today, she was wearing jeans and a grey sweater pushed up to her elbows, and her dark hair lay limply just down to her shoulders. She didn’t wear make-up, which made her look a lot younger than 30. Her eyes also looked huge, though possibly it was her big eyeglass frames popular with young people these days that are magnifying them. She looked about twenty, truth be told. Like one of the round robin millennial temps they had before they found Pat.

Cormoran remembered she was part-something, but had now forgotten. Japanese? Korean? He wasn’t too keen on Michelle, truth be told. Cormoran thought she looked too young, with a nervous energy about her. But Robin liked her on the onset, and everyone he called thought she was great, had a lot of potential, but kept getting passed over for promotions. Not even when she helped track down a creep who was running a pedo site on the dark web.

Vanessa said the Met’s cyber crimes unit wanted to take her on, but she wanted to be detective, and well…

Inwardly, if Cormoran were Michelle’s commanding officer, she’d also have to do something exceptional to be promoted to detective-inspector. Even Robin looked more like a cop.

“Did you want to be reimbursed?” Cormoran offered, not sure really what he can make Michelle do. She wasn’t due to be here until 9 in the morning for the staff meeting.

“Oh!” Michelle said, as though remembering. “No! I was just going to say that it was a woman that she met.” said Michelle nonsensically. It took a beat before Cormoran understood what she meant.

“A woman?” Cormoran asked, surprised.

“Yeah.” looking at the photo Michelle was showing him on her phone. Last Friday, he had asked Michelle to tail a young blonde for her mother who was worried she was prostituting herself for money. Andy had nicknamed the girl ‘Buzz’ because of her buzz cut, after Robin glared at Sam for suggesting ‘Muffy’ because the young blonde’s haircut made her look, according to Sam, like a lesbian.

“Where did they go?” Cormoran asked, looking at the succession of photos where a hooded figure (definitely a woman) in yoga pants got in Buzz’s car.

“Not very far at all.” said Michelle. “Parsons Green. She only picked the woman up at Broomhouse Lane. They rowed and the woman ran after Buzz into the park. Followed them on foot and saw them making out by the trees.”

Cormoran saw a very dark, useless photo of two figures clinging onto each other.

“Yeah,” Michelle sighed. “That’s useless, but I managed to get a photo of them under a lamp light. No longer kissing, though.”

Cormoran was momentarily taken aback by a photo of Michelle’s face close up. Evidently, she’d accidentally hit selfie-view for a few frames before getting it right. Trying not to laugh, and wondering how Michelle became a cop, he waited for their new subcontractor to find the photo she was looking for, stammering apologetically in her embarrassment.

“Alright, here.” she said, handing Cormoran back the phone.

Cormoran stared at the two women walking a few feet away from each other. Face clear under lamplight now, but the photo looked innocuous. To an outsider, the only thing of note would be that the two women were crying. In terms of useful evidence to their client, Michelle had nothing.

“I know it’s nothing, but I did a reverse image search on the woman’s face, and apparently, she’s—”

The door opened and both Cormoran and Michelle looked up. Robin had arrived.


	7. Chapter 7

_…simple pleasures, like finding_   
_wild onions by the side of a road,_   
_or requited love._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Michelle did most of the talking over breakfast. Angled to Robin who was seated next to her, she was telling her and Cormoran about the new dog she got and how it wouldn’t stop following her, insisting on laying its wet snout on her leg.

Robin, who grew up with dogs, knew this was true of pretty much every dog on the planet. But Michelle moved around a lot as a child apparently, and she never had opportunities for pets, and only got this one when she became so miserable at her old job, she needed something that made her happy.

Robin really liked Michelle. They were the same age, though Michelle looked a lot younger, and had this sort of nervous nerdy energy about her but in a charming kind of way Robin thought. Vanessa knew they’d get on, and even specified that Robin will definitely love Michelle but, _“I suppose Cormoran will need some convincing.”_

Cormoran did need some convincing. On paper, Michelle was a catch. Eight years as police, highly recommended by everyone they’d called, overlooked because she looked young and cute as opposed to--oh, Robin didn’t know—sort of like Vanessa who is high cheek-boned and exuded the unflappable calm and seriousness of a Queen’s Guard at work.

But Robin knew Cormoran was still skeptical, and possibly agreed to trial Michelle on basis of him hiring Saul Morris and how much of a mistake that had been. Robin thought that Cormoran thought that if he got one bad hire, Robin could have one too. But Michelle wouldn’t be a bad hire. She’d half solved the Buzz case on her first night!

Cormoran wasn’t even pretending to listen to the conversation about Michelle’s cat. His mind was split between wishing it was only him and Robin having breakfast, and the photos Michelle took of Buzz last night.

Michelle didn’t need to tell him who the woman was, but she sounded excited at her discovery that the woman Buzz had met was the TV presenter Gabriella Pearson. Michelle’s excitement, Cormoran could tell, was over figuring out who the woman was. She seemed clueless of Cormoran’s own connection to Gabriella, and he couldn’t decide if he liked that or thought that she should’ve at least Googled who she was going to work for.

So Gabriella had a female sugar baby, does she? From Michelle’s story and from the photos where they could see both Buzz and Gabriella’s face, it looked like a lover’s row. But he’s decided he’d give Buzz two more weeks just in case there were other older lovers lavishing her with expensive gifts.

Mildly, Cormoran thought this would be quite the scandal for Gabriella if the papers get wind of it. Famous for her father, and her job, and her marriage to an MP. This was also a bit of a shock for him, truth be told. He’s had very little interaction with Gabriella, but in his mind she seemed Lucy-ish with her perfectly wholesome young family. But of course, Cormoran also knew better. People exuded ordinariness to mask their most sordid of secrets.

He hoped the agency will find some other lover they could hand over to their client, but Cormoran was almost certain it would only be Gabriella. But maybe they’d broken up and Buzz will find another moneyed man or woman to fund her lifestyle. It would still be due diligence to take two weeks to know for sure if there are others.

If there was no one else, he could tell the client that results we ‘inconclusive’. He will insist on closing the case with the client and that will be that. He couldn’t give the client Gabriella herself. This is something the Daily Mail will pay good money for. He can see the headlines now, something to the effect of him sticking it up his old father again by uncovering Gabi’s scandal.

He didn’t really think he was doing this out of some brotherly protectiveness. He’s mostly worried about the optics of it being _his_ agency that does it. Although this would definitely finally get Rokeby off his back. But this will eclipse the Bamborough case that he—despite not admitting it to anyone—was particularly proud of.

The nutter letter he got last week sprang to mind. ‘I know your secret. Your dirty little secret.’ and, ‘How much is this secret worth to you?’. Whoever the fuck it was who thinks he’s about to blackmail Cormoran with something Charlotte-related is shit out of luck. Charlotte had a lot of secrets, some of them even dirty, and he isn’t pure white himself or anything, but whatever passed between him and Charlotte are not the sort of secrets you use as blackmail…

He hadn’t seen the CCTV photo since looking at it the first time. It could be any street. It could be Denmark Street. Maybe Charlotte had come into the office and the nutter thought it was for a late night tryst. He couldn’t even ID the year without a timestamp. It could be any time between the last ten years. Charlotte’s beauty is of one who doesn’t age.

He felt a poke in his shoulder and realised Robin and Michelle were already standing and blinking at him.

He grunted as he heaved to walk out with them.

They ran into Andy outside of the coffee house and Michelle with her nervous and awkward energy introduced herself to him. Andy gave Cormoran a look of, _her?_ but was perfectly pleasant as they headed off together towards the office.

“What do you want to do,” Robin asked, falling into step with Cormoran. “With Buzz and Gabriella?”

“Give it two more weeks. Buzz could be some other bloke’s sugar baby.”

They looked at each other. Cormoran could tell Robin also thought it was unlikely.

He sighed. “If it’s an affair Gabriella is having with that young woman, it can’t come from us. Buzz’s mum will go to the papers with this and we’d be chased out of the office again.”

Robin seemed to think. “Well, two more weeks of surveillance is just due diligence, isn’t it? And we’ve withheld information from clients before if we think it will lead to harm…”

“Buzz’s mum the sort to bludgeon TV presenters, you think?”

“Ha, ha. Exposure _is_ harm, too.”

“I know.”

“What happens if we don’t give Buzz’s mum the info, then she goes to a different agency and finds out the same thing as Michelle? I mean, I think Michelle is good, but I think her finding this all out on the first night means—”

“—they’re being sloppy with the affair, yeah. We could recommend a shit agency. Patterson can’t be busy these days.” he joked, with a dash of smugness that made Robin chuckle.

Cormoran wondered how much this easy camaraderie between them will change if he told her what he wanted to tell her (Pathetic. Fancy. No. Prick. Date. Please. Me.) Maybe it’s best not to rock the boat just now?

Inwardly, Cormoran thought he might tip Gabi off. He’s starting to think that he should, even before the two weeks is up. He couldn’t give two shits about his sister having an affair, that was her business. But Robin was right. Exposure _is_ harm. And he supposed between a stranger off the street and a woman whose blood runs the same as his own, blood _is_ thicker than water.

They were up the landing now and Cormoran could hear Barclay and Pat’s muffled voices from behind the glass pane. He was about to open the door when he felt Robin tug at his elbow.

“Hm?” he asked, thinking there was something else she wanted to say. And there had been.

Robin took a step closer to Cormoran, a hand light on the lapel of his shirt, lifting herself up, lips parting, giving him a soft kiss.

She seemed to want to withdraw as soon as she’d done it, but Cormoran wasn’t about to let her go yet another time. He kept her pressed against him, one hand around her, another gently stroking at her temple trying to think of the right words to say or ask. His mind was, just then, flashes of all the times he stared into her blue gray eyes:

Her eyes glaring at him after he’d pulled her back from toppling to her death on this very landing. Her eyes glinting with mischief at Vashti as she twirled in that green dress. Her eyes grief-stricken as she poured her heart out at the Tottenham. Her eyes furious and resolute as she defended what she did for Alyssa and her family. Her eyes hopeful and sad as he hugged her at her wedding. Her eyes kind as she squeezed his hand at hospital. Her eyes terrified in the aftermath of her panic attack by that verge. Her eyes unreadable as they stared at each other in a dark whisky haze of possibility.

He didn’t feel the moments of exhilaration before he headed into a boxing ring or when he would throw his shoulder against a door to barge into a killer. He didn’t feel like he was a trapeze artist about to take a big leap. He felt precisely what he felt whenever he hears her voice in his ear, or gets his first sight of her every morning: a lifting of his spirits, a lightening of his heart. He only felt warm. Home.

“Let’s be together.” Cormoran whispered, tender as he’d ever known himself to be, sure of her answer.

Robin smiled. “Okay.”

He let her go then, and with a deep breath and a chuckle, she opened the door into their office.


	8. Chapter 8

_I’m sorry you two_   
_are having trouble._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Robin found, quite pleasurably, that Cormoran’s bed is very comfortable indeed. She stretched, feeling energised after a well-timed nap that was just the perfect length she needed that afternoon.

And then she sighed, a little sad, because this was the closest they’d come to feeling like a proper couple in the last two weeks: her, alone, snoozing on his bed. He was downstairs himself, waiting for Sam to report on one of their cases.

It was like the agency was purposely keeping them apart, Robin thought. The same day they both decided they were going to date, they suddenly had an onslaught of cases. Six now, after Cormoran lost his mind when urgent waiting list clients called to cancel. Instead of letting them go, he assured them that they’d take their cases and add it to the existing ones they were already working on.

So now they had six open cases and five full-time detectives. The bank balance was healthy, the rota was organised, all bills are paid-- Strike Detective Agency is a well-ordered machine.

Except its two business partners were both working over time to keep the bank balance healthy and the rota organised and the bills paid. Which left virtually no time for dates or anything normal like that. There were meals that were usually shared with one of their other subcontractors. If one had the night or day off, it’s because the other was picking up the slack.

They’d had stretches like this before, especially in the last two years, but they’d never been dating while it was happening. And while she usually missed Cormoran during such stretches, she never allowed herself to feel it completely. Now that there was no reason for her to reign it in, she felt very sad to feel very comfortable in a clean bed that smelled like Cormoran without him to cuddle with.

It occurred to Robin they hadn’t cuddled yet, which was such a silly, kiddish thought that she made herself laugh. They also hadn’t yet had sex, which was making her feel as close to sexually frustrated as she’d ever been. Because she kept coming to the night of her birthday and fully appreciating that it had been a fantastic shag.

But their work schedules haven’t synced in two weeks, and it looked like it’ll still be the same through November. If she planned on having sex again this year, they need to close some of these cases and she’ll have to put her foot down and tell Cormoran, as his business partner, that they can’t take on more cases than they had detectives.

It was torture knowing Robin was upstairs in his bed and he was downstairs in their office staring into a case file he wished he could throw out. A multi-millionare Michelle nicknamed ‘Moneybags’ (she’d been thrilled when she got to name one) who hired them to make sure if other people investigated him, he’d come out clean.

It was idiotic, and Cormoran was an idiot to take it. But two weeks ago, he called to say he was taking his business elsewhere and Cormoran who didn’t want to take it as a sign that he’d cursed the agency by asking Robin to be together, assured the bastard they have time to accommodate him, too. And now their agency has six open cases and five full detectives and he hasn’t yet had sex with the very pretty lady he’d convinced two weeks ago to date him.

He needed to close one.

He ran through their existing cases in his head:

Moneybags, who’d paid until the end of the year and wasn’t really a case but busywork. Buzz, who Michelle said was still on Gabriella and shows no signs of moving on. Two adultery cases Andy and Robin were currently on: one was a 24 year old afraid her 70-year-old husband was already on the prowl to replace her, and the other a 55-year-old theater director who is convinced her 28-year-old ballet dancer husband was sleeping around.

He and Sam were working on the last two. There was a grumpy curmudgeon who was sure his household staff was looting his house. They’d already put cameras in and around his house over the weekend and Sam was meant to have retrieved and delivered tapes to Denmark Street an hour ago.

The last was a 30-something woman terrified her ex was drugging and raping her. The agency urged her to go straight to the cops initially, but the boyfriend was a respected doctor and she knew she’d need proof beyond inexplicable needle marks on her thigh. That was their current heaviest case, with the agency doing surveillance and security as Cormoran decided the agency will intervene in case the doctor tried to get into the house at all with their client inside.

They called that client Peach, after the color of her house along Mimosa Street in Fulham. It was Cormoran, Sam, and Michelle who did nightly surveillance as they were the three who were the most physically fit and trained to apprehend violent bastards.

He and Robin were surveilling the adultery cases that night, him tailing a 70-year-old man possibly about to upgrade his already very young and very beautiful wife, and Robin attending a theater show afterparty to make sure a 28-year-old ballet dancer went home alone. Their schedules, as Cormoran glared at the rota as though it had done him a great offense, looked to be about the same through November.

For the first time ever, he felt a glimmer of sympathy for Matthew Cunliffe who complained constantly about Robin’s work hours. He finally appreciated, too, what people around him harped on about work/life balance. He used to think that was for squares. Bores who had unhappy 8 AM to 5 PM jobs and unhappy 8 PM to 5 AM marriages and mediocre weekend affairs and called their lives work/life balanced.

But now, staring at the bloody rota, he thought that if he worked just a teensy bit less, and Robin worked just a teensy bit less they could maybe scrape—not even a weekend, nothing crazy like that—a night together. Just a night. Just a bloody night. Just one goddamn stretch of night.

He imagined Robin in his bed right now, an idea springing to mind. Sam was already late. He could just instruct Pat to receive the tapes and he’d deal with them tomorrow. How easy it would be to just head upstairs and permit himself and Robin a moment of temporary grace. And then he heard hacking and spluttering from the outer office. And the image of Pat coughing and sucking on an e-cig snuffed the ember of arousal within him as effectively as if he’d been doused with ice water.

He supposed Robin wouldn’t be impressed if he suggested afternoon quickies just because he was, admittedly, feeling overworked and growing sexually frustrated.

He called Sam. “Where are you?”

“On Peach.” he replied, answering on the first ring.

“Wha—” said Cormoran, surprised. “You haven’t been to Gloucester?” Gloucester was where their curmudgeon client—nicknamed Conk (“He seems conked in the head,” said Sam)—lived and it sounds like Sam hadn’t yet retrieved the cameras he was supposed to have already delivered to Strike an hour ago.

“Her boyfriend came round and dropped flowers off! The poor woman asked me to stick close by in case he came back.” Sam retorted, sounding defensive at Cormoran’s immediate, obvious agitation.

“You couldn’t have called?”

A beat that told Cormoran Sam knew he fucked up by not calling. It only agitated him more. “Yeah well, poor lady was distraught, Strike. She needed calming—”

“Bloody--!” Cormoran grumbled, hanging up on Sam. He liked Sam. He thought he was the best of his subcontractors, but he could sense that Sam was getting a little too comfortable with his position, making his own calls without checking with him and Robin first. Of course, Sam had been right to stay on Peach if the boyfriend showed his face. The poor woman did seem like she was at wits end, not sleeping and growing paranoid. And even if Sam had called that he was detained, Cormoran didn’t know where he placed cameras in the Gloucester flat and wouldn’t be able to fetch it himself anyway.

But what he was really pissed about that Sam had no idea of was that Sam not calling about his changed circumstance cost Cormoran what he thought a precious opportunity. He could’ve apparently spent the afternoon upstairs with Robin, regardless of how unappetising the thought of having Pat just downstairs.

Feeling agitated at Sam and resentful of his business that has never been better, he stood up, stomped out of the office, and headed upstairs.


	9. Chapter 9

_Steve turns to her, embraces her._   
_They kiss. His hands wander,_   
_squeeze her ass. She giggles…_

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Robin was still lying lazily on Cormoran’s bed when he poked his head in. She saw how tired he looked before his face lifted as he smiled at her. “Was just about to wake you.”

“Hm. Come here.” she said, not moving off the bed. He didn’t need telling twice, laying fully clothed on his bed next to her, moving his arm so she could lie against his chest.

They laid together like that for a very short, unfair while as Cormoran thoroughly wished they were the sort of people who could and would skive off work. Laid down like this and immensely comforted with Robin in his arms, he realised that he was actually more exhausted than pent up, and if he could be presented with the option of sleep with Robin or sex with Robin, he might actually prefer sleep. It’s the ‘Robin’ bit that was important.

“I’m gonna cancel the Croft job.” he said. It was the Moneybags one that for all its futile busywork, was also the highest paying. “Shouldn’t have agreed to it.”

Robin, who agreed, didn’t react. All she wanted was a bit of a cuddle just to know what it felt like. They’d been so busy she sometimes couldn’t believe this seismic change between her and Cormoran has happened.

“Shouldn’t have kept on with Whitley.” Cormoran continued, thinking out loud. Mrs. Whitley was Buzz’s mum who accepted the agency’s final report that her daughter wasn’t prostituting herself, but that the source of funds she got for her Lexus was ‘inconclusive’. The partners even told the woman that while they suspect she had a rich paramour, they haven’t seen evidence of it in the last 2 weeks. Cormoran suggested possibly picking up the case again in a month or so because “these things usually ramp up during the holidays” but the woman naturally wanted to find out who it could be as soon as possible. Upon hinting that she’d take her case elsewhere, Cormoran agreed to keep at the case thinking that even a dimwit like Patterson can easily find Gabriella with the thorough and copious information they gave Mrs. Whitley on her daughter’s activities.

Robin felt torn. Cormoran was obviously saying these things because they’ve had zero time with each other, which made her happy, but it wasn’t very good business to want _less_ work was it?

She kept getting these tiny indications of how their brand new, unconsummated relationship was affecting the business. Like tiny tremors building up to a big shock.

 _No!_ she thought, shaking the unhelpful thought, suddenly pulling herself up to stare at Cormoran’s face. “I’m going to close one.” she vowed. “Tonight. I’ll close one tonight.”

He laughed, and then she laughed. They weren’t anywhere near closing any of their current cases, except the Buzz one but even she didn’t want the Gabriella Pearson affair to come from them.

And then they were kissing, the sort of loud and wet smacking that should preface sex. Robin could definitely feel Cormoran’s hot palm under her sweater. _Oh, I like this_ , she thought. How long has it been since she’d made out with someone she liked a lot?

She shrieked when he flipped them both over, him on top now, burying his face against her neck. He could smell the dull ambient smell of his bed on her mixed with the dark floral undertones of the perfume he picked out. He had a feeling this wouldn’t go as far as he needs it to go, but _god_ anything feels like heaven when it’s Robin Ellacott underneath him.

She let him pull her sweater off. Gave a low satisfied groan when he buried his face between her breasts. She arched to feel some friction as his body rested between her legs. It was unfair for her to work them both up like this when she really will have to go and he really will have to go, but jeez does she need to get off!

Cormoran trailed kisses down Robin’s bare flat stomach, fingers working to get her jeans open and off her. He was waiting for her to stop them because he knew they must, but if she thought he wasn’t prepared to skive off work the rest of the night for this. Her. She was mistaken.

He sat up as he pulled Robin’s jeans off her legs, saw her in only her underwear stunning and fair splayed against his dark grey sheets. He hovered over her again for a kiss, hand trailing down the planes of her body, hand dipping inside her lace knickers. A light brush of his finger and she twists, folding her body into a fetal position. “Ugh,” she whines sounding sorry. “I can’t!”

Then she does a roll to get out from under him as he’s collapsing onto the bed with a grunt, now uncomfortably aroused. “I’m gonna cancel Croft.” he repeats, desperate to carve out some free time.

“Strike!”

Cormoran looked at Robin who smirks, flashes him a tit, and leaves with a wink.

Robin was wearing a soft pink dress with dark violet lines that she’s had for years but only wore a couple of times before. There hadn’t been much opportunity for nice dresses in the last five years, but tonight she was to attend a theater after party to once again report to a ballet dancer’s wife that he will arrive—by himself—where he said he would be and he will leave—by himself—to go to where he said he would go.

She felt like a baby sitter. In the last two weeks the 28 year old dancer hadn’t done anything to warrant his wife’s paranoia, unless being young and beautiful warranted such possessiveness. But she shook her head trying to clear it. She’s not supposed to judge their clients. She tried to channel Cormoran’s default of unflappability, able to take whatever information is thrown at him in stride. They’re like lawyers. Doesn’t matter who the client is. Just do the job and do it well.

“You should’ve said!” said Nick as he arrived at the pub, giving her an air-kiss hello. “I would’ve dressed up!”

“Oh!” Robin smiled, feeling a little shy that Nick had made comment. “This is for work.”

Nick had a perfectly respectable polo on himself. “Wine?” he offered, about to head to the bar to get himself a drink. “Just water.” Robin declined.

“Bit of a departure from the usual, this. Thought you had the wrong number when I got your call if I’m being honest.” said Nick when he arrived back with his pint. And then, staring at Robin looking quite alarmed. “I’m not in trouble, am I? You’re not about to tell me something about my marriage that I don’t know?”

Robin laughed, waving her hand. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted your help with something.”

“Is it about that rash?” Nick asked, gesturing for Robin’s arm. “May I?”

Robin held out her arm to him. She didn’t even know she’s got a rash. They both squint at the red spots near her elbow. Nick then goes, quite seriously, “You’ve got bedbugs, Rob.”

“What!”

Robin folded her arm to try and have a look at the red spots. It’s hard from this angle, like she was trying to lick her elbow but she thought she could see that they looked a little swollen.

Could she have gotten it on Cormoran’s bed?

“Damn. Really?” Robin asked, still on the bites, trying not to feel too grossed out that she had chucked her clothes off that bed this afternoon. When was the last time he changed his sheets?!

“Just happens,” Nick shrugged. “Hitchhiking blighters. They’re everywhere, too. Hotels, hostels, the tube. Doesn’t matter if you keep your place clean.” then Nick, clearly thinking he’d been asked to dinner over the rash, was telling Robin how to check for them and how he once heard of a case where it was so bad that the patient had insomnia, paranoia, and memory loss.

And then their fish and chips arrived and Nick seemed perfectly at ease telling Robin about how the patient thought he was going crazy and was even on some anti-psychosis meds until a dermatologist told him he’s got bedbug bites all over.

“You and Max should give yourselves a full check. The more bites there are, the bigger your problem. Hold out both your arms,” Nick asked with an air of a matter-of-fact doctor doing an exam. Robin held out her smooth, clear arms.

“Can’t be sure—and I’m also a gastroenterologist—” Nick smirked. “but I don’t see any other bites here. Maybe you’ll just need a change of sheets and a good cleaning of all your clothes. If they’re on your back or on your thighs, you’re really in trouble.”

Robin’s mind was suddenly on Cormoran again, imagining his back to be riddled with red bumps, the smell of tartar sauce suddenly unbearable under her nose. And then…

“Nick, you said it could cause paranoia?”

“Yeah, but it’s a long term effect. You usually notice within a month if you’ve got bedbugs unless you don’t change your sheets.”

Robin was thinking. “And memory loss… is it possible that you could be doing something without any idea that you were doing it? Like se-physical activity or something?” she balked at mentioning sex.

Nick thought for a moment. “I can’t be sure unless I talk to the patient. But your bite marks look like they happened today.” and then more seriously, “Have you been experiencing memory loss?”

She pulled up a photo on her phone.

“Would you say those are bedbug bites?” Robin asked, showing a photo that their client showed them of the back of her thigh that she thought were repeated needle marks.

“Oh, Robin!” Nick’s eyes grew wide. “You need to call pest control—!”

“Er,” Robin stammered. It would be as good a theory as any. She excused herself and Nick was very obliging and also very concerned as though the bedbug problem warranted a call to emergency services.

But Robin rang Sam instead. He predictably told her it was a crazy theory but also heard the telltale signs of him getting out of his car and doing what she asked. She liked Sam. After she figured out the autonepiophilia a few months back, Sam just sort of went with her out-there theories on cases, and seemed to like it better the more bizarre it is.

Robin heard Melissa put up some protest—the poor woman really was at wits end—but agreed. “Eugh,” said Sam in the receiver. “Riddled with it. Holy fuck!”

Not even the image of a mattress riddled with bedbugs could dampen the elation Robin felt that she had done what she told Cormoran she would do tonight: she closed a case.


	10. Chapter 10

_I mean, there's work._   
_And then there's work._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Cormoran was knackered, only half alert to the road he was driving through. Driving when you’re near dead of exhaustion wasn’t smart, but he didn’t want to prolong his drive by stopping for a quick coffee.

It had been a long and tiring night of surveillance. The 70-year-old was indeed sleeping around on his young wife, but he was also a particularly busy bastard. Dinner at a member’s only. Forty-five minutes at a strip club with some equally smarmy, well-suited old cunts, an unnecessarily out-of-way route to head to a nice house in Kensington and stayed there for about four hours, went back to his office, and then finally headed home around three.

Must be nice to be so coked up, you’re running around and energetic for 24-hours even well into your senior years, he thought dully. At least they were getting somewhere with this case. Any new information is one step closer to clearing it.

He wished he was going back to Denmark Street, but Robin texted for him to come over and they haven’t had any time together at all, and things were so new. He didn’t really think he had much of a choice.

He wanted to see her, of course. But he was so tired that the way they left things yesterday afternoon wasn’t doing much for him right now. Indeed, he hoped Robin wouldn’t ask for sex because he will most certainly fall asleep on top of her.

He hadn’t cancelled the Croft job like he planned. Their client couldn’t be reached when he tried. And thinking about it, it seemed like easy, regular, high-paying work. They weren’t in a position to turn something like that down. They turned down clients on grounds that they’re probably going to do others an injury, or cause harm. This isn’t that. This is just research and surveillance, like firms hiring hackers to try and penetrate their own systems.

Far from cancelling the Croft job, he was actually thinking of how they could advertise that it was a service they offered. The subcontractors will hate it. He hates it. It isn’t a puzzle nor a mystery. It’s practically just fact-checking. But it pays well…

He was thinking in circles.

But he was also in front of Robin’s flat.

The last time he’d been there was the night of Robin’s birthday. And he was so exhausted, even _that_ wasn’t having much of an effect on him. On the bright side, the disastrous awkwardness that came after also had no present effect. What he was looking forward to was the soft bed he remembered Robin having, and her warmth against him as he remembered their brief cuddle from yesterday afternoon.

Robin was just a few feet away from him now, he thought as he stared bleary-eyed at the front door, texting Robin to let him in.

She was in a night shirt and she hugged him at the door and he let himself slump some of his weight a little in her arms. _This is nice_ , he thought, feeling her hand up and down his back. _What a nice thing to come home to_.

“You should take off your clothes.” she whispered to him when they got back in her room. She was also removing her shirt.

“Robin,” he sighed a feeble protest. He could barely keep himself upright, let alone other things upright.

She laughed softly into the darkness. It sounded like birdsong.

“Just trust me.” And because she said that, he did as he was told.

Robin was frowning at the rota. The Victoria job—that Sam nicknamed for their 24-year-old client that looked like a model—would need more surveillance work. Their mark, a ghastly-looking 70-year-old music composer seemed to mysteriously go to a Kensington flat now with some regularity.

She and Michelle were still on Buzz, whose Lexus still invariably found itself driving past Gabriella’s house in Fulham although neither she nor Michelle thought she’d made physical contact with Gabriella for at least a week and a half. Now Moneybags will also need surveilling. He’d expressed disappointment that their reports sounded, according to him, like they’d just Googled his name.

Only Mr. Ormston, the well-heeled grump in Gloucester Sam and Cormoran started calling ‘Conk’, doesn’t yet need night surveillance.

What Robin solving two cases last night did was make hers and Cormoran’s schedules a lot more reasonable, but not very in sync. On top of doing surveillance themselves, they try to make sure one of them is here during office hours to take meetings, receive reports, and other things you need to do to run a business.

They were finally free this coming weekend, but she was meant to be in Masham for her parents’ 35th and she tried to weigh how much she wants to spend time with her new boyfriend vs how much she isn’t looking forward to her family’s reaction when they find out about her and Cormoran. She was planning on getting ‘more time in’ with this new thing with him before telling her family about it. But their schedules were so bad, it’ll be Christmas before they get some time together.

Cormoran was calling.

“Shit, sorry! I overslept—”

“It’s okay,” she said in an offhand voice, closing the rota and looking now at one of the cases she closed last night. “It’s been a light morning.”

It hadn’t been a light morning. She’d been fielding calls from their clients today and wrapping up the paperwork for the two cases she was trying to close. But he had looked so tired and then so comfortable that she wanted him to have a lie-in.

Cormoran was running through their case load, asking where everyone was and if everything was running smoothly. Robin rolled her eyes. She’d manned the fort for longer and balanced more on her plate before when he needed to go back to Cornwall. But she knew perfectly well Cormoran had a tendency to micromanage.

“Just come in and I’ll update you in person.”

She asked their subcontractors not to tell Cormoran about last night just yet and sent them their updated schedules for the rest of the week. Aside from Robin and Pat, only Michelle was at the office now outside, looking through the Conk tapes as Mrs. Whitley, Buzz’s mum, quite happily rang Robin that her daughter arrived this morning and asked her mum to crash there for a couple of days.

And so she waited for Cormoran to arrive, doing some paperwork, trying not to think of her mother’s face when she brings him round the house this weekend.

Cormoran felt out of sorts waking up that morning in Robin’s bedroom without her. It was also half past 1 in the afternoon, which was late, but made later by the fact that he was half an hour away from his place of work instead of the usual half a minute.

He also had no text messages or missed calls that morning, which was disorienting. He supposed the calls had been routed to the office. But not even text messages from his subcontractors who usually sent quick periodic reports when they’re on surveillance. He called Sam and Andy, who were on different cases than he thought they would be. When he tried asking about last night’s work, they only told him to quit jumping down their throats because they’ve reported to Robin.

Most bizarrely, however, his clothes from yesterday were also missing and instead a different set of his own clothes were folded neatly on the foot of the bed. Robin must’ve gone back to his flat and got him a change of clothes. Why she would do that was a bit of a mystery. Not finding his laundry in the room, he supposed Robin took it with her.

Feeling like he’d forgotten something or perhaps woke up in a different dimension, he let himself out of Max’s house and headed for the office.

Pat was as usual typing away, greeting him with a slightly judgmental “Afternoon.” Michelle was on the couch on Robin’s work laptop, quietly watching what looked like surveillance video.

“What about Buzz?” he asked Michelle, not bothering with a greeting.

“Hi, Cormoran.” said Michelle, friendly and actually stopped what she was doing to look at him. “Mrs. Whitley called Robin saying Kristen is with her so I’m helping out on Ormston today.”

It was like waking up into an alternate universe where his business seemed to be running smoothly without his intervention at all. It wasn’t like those times he went to Cornwall, where he could feel the burden he’s had to unload on Robin. This just felt _neat_ and _self-sustaining_.

“She’s in.” Pat grunted unnecessarily, perhaps thinking Cormoran just standing there was him wondering if Robin was in.

He walked in the inner office and found Robin on his side of the partner’s desk, using his computer. Robin waited until he closed the door before speaking.

“You have bedbugs.”


	11. Chapter 11

_You get any ideas about_   
_just up and taking off…_

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

It was taking Robin some effort not to just blurt out what she’d been dying to say but she wanted to ease Cormoran into it, because they’re not all good. Cormoran furrowed his brows and sat on her side of the table.

“Bedbugs?”

“Yeah.” she sighed, chin on a hand.

Cormoran noticed two red spots on Robin’s arm. “Shit, sorry.”

Robin looked confused for a moment and then noticed where he was looking. “Oh, it’s okay! Lucky, really.” she smiled, reaching out a hand to squeeze his over the table. He squeezed back. This was the most PDA they’d done in the office.

“Yeah?” Cormoran half-laughed, unsure how that could be lucky. His eyes went from the two tiny red spots near Robin’s elbow, and then the permanent gash of healed skin she got from a case nearly three years ago. “How’s that?”

“Well, because of where you got it.”

“Where’d I get it?” Cormoran asked, unsure where this is going. She looked like she was dying to tell him something.

Her lip curled into a smile. “Melissa Smith’s. Her flat’s crawling with it, apparently.” her mouth twisted, unable to contain her disgust. “Sam’s also found some at his place. He isn’t happy.”

“Shit.” Cormoran wasn’t sure why he was being told this disgusting fact, and he was actually quite surprised because the Peach flat wasn’t filthy at all. It was neat and clean, if maybe a little fusty. But all houses have some distinct, inexplicable smell to visitors.

“How’d you find out she’s given half the agency bedbugs?”

“Well, that’s actually what’s been causing her problems.”

“What?”

“Apparently, long term exposure to bedbug bites can cause some serious mental health concerns too. Insomnia, paranoia, memory loss.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. What she and we thought were needle marks were actually bedbug bites. It’s the worst on her back—” Robin’s face crumpled, trying to rid her mind of the image of Melissa Smith’s bare back just riddled with bites. She shuddered. “But yeah, as it turns out her boyfriend hadn’t been drugging her. And she had been inviting him over for sex consensually and she was just forgetting. She’d been scatterbrained about everything, apparently. She hadn’t told us but it’s gotten so bad, she’d been fired from her job and her family’s been very concerned.”

“The boyfriend’s story is, he’d mentioned she might have bedbugs because he’d noticed her bites. And she even remembers this, but with everything else going on, that seemed hardly a priority for Melissa.”

Robin then sighed. “Hiring us might’ve made it worse actually, because if she’d just carried on, the boyfriend will probably realise how bad her bedbug infestation was. Or if she went to the police, they would’ve investigated his story, they would’ve found that Melissa wasn’t right at all, and she wouldn’t have spent the last three weeks paranoid and distressed.”

Cormoran was glaring at her in that look of his that told her he disagreed. “There’s no way we could’ve known that was the real problem _and_ we tried to tell her to go to the police.”

“I know.” said Robin. She didn’t really mean to argue and their client seemed happy and relieved that they’d been the one to point it out. Even the doctor boyfriend thanked the agency.

“Bedbugs, Jesus!”

“Yeah.”

“But how _did_ you work it out?” Cormoran asked. “Just off the bites you got?” he didn’t add _from my bed_ , feeling embarrassed over it.

“I consulted Nick.” said Robin, prepared for the question. She didn’t want Cormoran yet to know she’d met Nick. “He said the photo of Melissa’s thigh were definitely not repeated needle marks, especially not done by a professional doctor.”

“Ah.” said Cormoran, accepting Robin’s proactive move. He had thought about asking medical opinion for this case, but he dismissed it as premature previously. This story also explained why he’s wearing a change of clothes, and why Robin asked him to stay over at her’s last night.

“How’d the theater party with the ballet dancer go?”

Robin hesitated.

“What’s happend?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think I sacked Mrs. Levy. Or she sacked us. It might’ve been mutual.”

Cormoran looked taken aback and stunned silent. Robin hasn’t done anything like that before, and Cormoran wasn’t sure how well that sat with him just yet.

“I’d been talking to Sam all night while I was at the party. Mrs. Levy’s husband was just with his dancer friends, just chatting. He wasn’t doing anything at all, like all those other times we’ve been tailing him. Anyway, he left the party around midnight, I followed him to his car and as soon as I knew he was going home alone, I texted Mrs. Levy.”

“Okay…”

Robin rolled her eyes again. “You know how she insists that we call her whenever her husband was on the move?”

Cormoran thought he knew what was coming.

“It’s because _she_ was having the affair, not him. She was using us as kind of baby sitter because she’s been doing the affair at their house. I found this out when the husband got home, found his wife sleeping with someone else, and she yells at _me_ for not calling. Said we just cost her a very expensive divorce.”

“Jesus!” said Cormoran. “Then you sacked her?”

Robin hesitated again. “Er, she called this morning asking if we would be interested to keep going, but this time to find dirt on her husband.”

“What did you say?”

“Cormoran, she’s an awful person and I don’t want to help her ruin her husband’s life when he seems the decent one.”

Cormoran has noticed that Robin gravitated more towards female clients generally, and for her to side against this particular client meant she really was that awful. “What did you tell her exactly?”

“Told her to shove it?” said Robin. Cormoran’s eyes grew wide then she smiled. “I said we’re full up, and she said it was bullshit because last night we were doing work for her. And I said well we are, and she yelled rude things and then I hung up.”

Robin stared at Cormoran who was just looking at her. And then his face cracked into a smile. “You said you’d close a case.”

Robin held two fingers up.

Cormoran thought that deserved celebration. The sort where he ought to give the both of them the rest of the day off. Then he remembered the bedbugs upstairs and the nearest un-infested bed to them was really half an hour away.

“How’s the rota looking, then?” he asked.

Robin sighed, pulling it up and twisting the monitor so Cormoran could see, too.

Still on opposite schedules. Looking better by November, though not by much. At least their weekends are free.

They were already going to Al’s wedding on Friday, and then Robin was to head to Masham for the weekend. Both of them were staring at it with the same singular goal of: _when am I ever going to have sex?_ Wednesday next week at the earliest. But the way their workload changes, that might not be the case anymore by tomorrow.

“I don’t suppose you’d want to come to Masham, do you?”


	12. Chapter 12

_I was spoiling for a fight_   
_and you gave it to me._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

The bedbugs situation ended up being a bigger deal than Robin originally thought.

She mentioned it to Max as a joke over dinner because he asked if Cormoran staying over the other night was what he thought it was. Robin came clean, but also added that he’s got bedbugs and her roommate’s entire demeanour changed. Bugs were apparently a thing with Max, whose aversion was so intense, he stayed at his boyfriend Richie’s and called Robin the next morning to say that he was having pest control over, and that they’d been advised to evacuate for the night.

Very embarrassed that she brought this on, Robin insisted on paying for it. Cormoran, in turn, insisted to pay for it, and for the office and his flat to also be fumigated for good measure. It was all very excessive, but Cormoran didn’t like that Max seemed to suddenly treat Robin as though she’d been spreading lice around.

Robin initially thought that was quite sweet and chivalrous, except now there’s tension between her flatmate and her boyfriend about bedbugs! The idea of booking at a Travelodge for the night was broached, but Robin got the sense that Cormoran seemed uncomfortable spending even that little money when they weren’t on the same schedule anyway.

This led to Robin trying to pay for the fumigation for Max’s house again like she was originally planning, but Cormoran wasn’t having any of it. She suggested that perhaps the agency could pay for his flat and Sam’s because they got it from working on a case anyway and then _she’d_ pay for Max’s one because it had been her personal decision to invite Cormoran over.

And then before Robin realised it, they were rowing. Because Cormoran didn’t at all take kindly to being made to feel as though he’s a stray dog riddled with fleas. Robin thought that was a bit much and said so. She might have laughed a little because everyone seems to be taking this whole bedbugs business to a level that was very much over the top.

And then she was angry because Cormoran had said things to the effect of putting his foot down that he was going to pay for every fumigation needed doing and sarcastically told Robin that she better take survey of everyone else in case they also want to get their homes pest controlled because that’ll be everyone’s Christmas bonuses.

So the Travelodge idea was scrapped, Cormoran buggered off to Nick and Ilsa’s and she asked Vanessa if she could stay over.

“At the risk of sounding insensitive,” Vanessa started after Robin told the entire Bedbugs Saga to her over wine. “You haven’t got bedbugs, do you?”

“Cormoran seems to be giving away free fumigations, I can add you to the list.”

“I know you’re joking, but we’ve got ants everywhere so if he’s offering…”

Robin laughed.

“You two are really going for it, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Robin asked.

“You and Corm. Like, really going for it. Business. Relationship. All of it.”

Robin sighed, thinking that she might know what Vanessa meant. This seemed the sort of thing you fight about two or three years down the line. Not two or three weeks. And now he’s even going home with her this weekend.

There was a nagging feeling building inside her. Like their friendship and business partnership and terrible timing seemed to have eaten up the early days of romance. That bit where it was just all dates and sex and attraction. They shouldn’t yet be checking each other’s skin for insect bites. They haven’t even slept together yet!

She downed her wine and poured some more, asking herself what the hell she got herself into.

A second cream envelope with his named in elegant script arrived at the office again yesterday. The same card, ‘I know your secret. Your dirty little secret.’ but now it bore a recorded message that screeched when you open it.

_“You think you got away with it, but you didn’t. She was there. Why was she there, Rokeby? He knows. He could still tell. How much are their lives worth to you, Rokeby? A million pounds? Two million for two people?”_

Cormoran listened to the message again, writing down what the message had been word for word. It was already disintegrating from the cheap recording method that had been used. The card itself looked professionally printed, though it bore no barcode or greeting card logo.

Whoever this person is, he thinks he has something on Cormoran that involves Charlotte and another person. A ‘he’. Who could that ‘he’ be? Jago Ross? Their lives aren’t worth anything to him. Certainly not the two million pounds he doesn’t have in the first place. Why isn’t this nutter bothering the Viscount and Viscountess for the money?

And _Rokeby?_ Why the bloody fuck would he be called ‘Rokeby’? He was never a Rokeby. Was this fucker making a pointed reference that he supposed Cormoran had that much money to blow for an effin’ payout? _He’s got another thing coming…_

Knowing there was nothing isn’t easing the feeling of inexplicable worry, because you don’t just extort that much money without knowing for sure what you have. _There’s a body_ , was his initial thought. There’s a body somewhere out there that this nutter thinks has him and Charlotte and another person involved with it.

But Cormoran also knew that for very rich people, very big numbers can be small prices to pay to keep any small secret that could ruin reputations. But what could there be of Charlotte that the press don’t yet know? She lays all of her mess and wonder and damage and beauty bare for the world to see.

He played it again, this time with his phone next to it to record a copy of the message, though he doubted the recording of an already garbled recording will be of much investigative help.

Cormoran’s phone rang, interrupting the message’s third replay. “Shit.” said Cormoran, shutting the card closed and picking up his phone.

“Hey, Stick. Sorry I missed you. What’s up?”

“Are you driving? You can ring me back later.”

“No, it’s alright. Greg got me one of those things, those bluetooth things.”

“Right, er. I wanted to ask you what a good wedding anniversary present would be.”

“Who’s getting married?” Lucy asked, shouting a little as though she didn’t know he could hear her just fine.

“It’s for Robin’s parents. They’re celebrating their 35th.” said Cormoran, bracing himself.

“That’s lovely,” said Lucy, who didn’t seem to have thought anything of the fact that Cormoran was asking her gift ideas for Robin’s parents. He thought for sure she’d realise the implication. She was one with Ilsa in trying to match-make. “Hm. Towels?”

“Think we can do better than towels, Luce.”

“Well I can’t think right now, this blasted bluetooth has too many damn—” Cormoran heard phone keys as though his sister was trying to key in a phone number while he was still on the line. “Ugh, never mind! This’ll kill me—Stick! I’m headed into the city today. I can be there by noon.”

She hung up before Cormoran could protest. In Lucy’s well-ordered world, lunchbreaks were at precisely noon and it was unfathomable for there to be people working through it.

But he was free for lunch as it happens, or else he would’ve left a message that he isn’t available. Instead, he told her to swing by Octavia Street. He was actively trying to be a better brother to her, who he knew took Joan’s passing very, very hard.

His phone vibrated. Thinking it was Lucy confirming, he checked who it was. Robin.

> **Michelle has an update on Buzz. I’ll meet her for lunch.** ****

They’d been exchanging matter-of-fact messages like this all day. She had work while he was supposed to be sleeping after tailing that creepy septuagenarian again all night. The longer he sat with their row about the bedbugs, the more he’s realising how ridiculous it was.

But he also thought he wasn’t completely unreasonable.

He couldn’t believe Robin suggested the agency pay for the unnecessary fumigations when they were down to four clients and she begged off taking one more at least until the month ends. And then she suggests booking a Travelodge that neither of them would even really use.

It made him uneasy that they didn’t have what he thought was a full workload, never mind that he had been wanting some more reasonable work schedules just the other day. He could still remember vividly the depression that sets in whenever he’d get stretches of months with little to no clients, the closeness to destitution he’d come in the aftermath of leaving Charlotte.

Cormoran didn’t think Robin a spendthrift, but he had been surprised that she was so quick to offer up the agency’s money like that especially when she’s a business partner and should also be keeping an eye on the bank balance.

But people who are solidly middle-class don’t have the same relationship with money as people like him who had seen and experienced squalor, do. She’s never experienced skint to mean wearing public school uniforms but accepting a proffered half of a sandwich because Leda literally had no cash for food.

He knew he shouldn’t take it against Robin. He knew that. But he couldn’t stop thinking that going into a relationship seemed to be distracting them both: wanting to work less, wanting to spend more.

Shaking his head, he replied:

> **Ok. Meeting Lucy.**

He stared at the text message he sent, and thought it inadequate and bare and more curt than he felt. Despite the misgivings creeping up within him, he liked Robin a lot. So much, in fact. He meant it when he invited for them to be together. He’s ready. He wants this. She’s the best person he knew, his most favorite human being on the planet.

Robin replied with an ‘Ok.’ and he replied with his own ‘Ok.’ and as he pocketed his phone, he supposed there was something to their mates saying they might have communication issues.


	13. Chapter 13

_I knew you_ _would  
disapprove—_

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Michelle had a worried look on her face when she met Robin for lunch.

“What’s up?”

Their subcontractor pulled out her laptop and opening it to show a photo, zoomed in very closely. It was of Buzz in a skimpy, glittery dress, sitting at the bar and clearly flirting with a man.

Another photo. Similar, although the man’s profile could be seen in it better. Robin lurches and then squints at the profile. _It can’t be_.

Michelle had a grimace on and pulled her laptop away. “I’ve got a bunch more similar pics of them, but he never faces my way so I don’t have a clear shot. But it’s him.”

“What did he do? Where did they go after?”

“They went off somewhere and I lost them for about fifteen minutes, but Buzz came right back out and she looked angry.”

“Angry?”

“Yeah. Then she left and went back to her place.”

“Shit.” Robin thought.

“Yeah. What do you usually do in these scenarios?” Michelle asked.

Robin thought for a moment. Judging from the photos and Michelle’s story, it sounded like Buzz just tried to pick up Gabriella’s husband. It’s shaping up to be an even bigger scandal now, if Buzz gets involved with both sides of a power couple.

The agency’s move would be to report to their client that Buzz is involved with Gabriella and looks to be angling for Edwin Pearson, an MP, to get involved with her, too. Buzz’s motives doesn’t seem to be money, because otherwise she wouldn’t have spent the last two weeks loitering around Gabriella’s house unless she’d been there for both or either Pearson. It’ll be Cormoran’s decision, Robin mused. She supposed Cormoran would have to tell Gabriella now. It was getting out of hand.

“I think just tail Buzz for one more night tonight and I’ll talk to Cormoran to figure out what we should do next.”

“Okay. Have you got time to talk about Conk?”

Michelle opened her laptop again, now looking for other files. Her desktop wallpaper was her black French bulldog in a tutu. It looked miserable to be dressed like a ballerina. Michelle finally pulled up a file. A clip from one of Sam’s hidden cameras in the Gloucester estate. This one was angled to the expansive kitchen with an island.

She pressed play and soon enough, one of the cleaning ladies—now in a nightshirt—walked up into the frame. She bent over the kitchen island slightly and started nonchalantly scrolling through her phone. And then, one of the cooks came into view, and quite matter-of-factly stood behind the woman, pulled out his penis and started having sex with her.

“Eugh.” said Robin in disgust. She would’ve tried to be less obvious with her disgust if Cormoran was there, but the way Michelle was also looking disgusted told her she wasn’t overreacting.

“I know.” said Michelle. “But look, this is the curious bit.”

They watched as the cook, all of a sudden stopped to walk out of the frame. The woman, seemed to be watching whatever the man was up to that the camera angle couldn’t catch, and then walked right back again and they resumed what had been interrupted.

Michelle turned off the laptop then. “It’s just more of that. But I think he walked out of frame to adjust a camera.”

“How do you know?” Robin asked.

“Just their demeanour. Like they were going in and out of character or something.”

Robin supposed that could be likely, but it also seemed like a different thing from what their client was complaining about. But it was good work. It was something they can report.

Neither woman felt like eating much after going over the tapes. But Michelle seemed determined to cleanse their palette, showing off photos of her dog in different outfits. Robin did feel cheered, finding the one of the dog in an Eeyore costume particularly adorable.

When Michelle left to go home before yet another night of surveilling Buzz, Robin took a deep breath and braced herself before making a call.

“Hello, love! Nice of you to call!” said Linda, sounding a little breathless as though she ran to grab her phone.

“Oh sorry mum. Bad time?” Robin asked, hoping a little bit that it was a bad time. She wanted to just say this quick and let her mother sit on the information for a few days before being faced with the reality of it.

“No, no. Just popping into town for some errands with Mart. How are you?”

“Right. Uh, I haven’t really got time…” she said, which was a lie because she was just due back to the office. “But I just wanted to say I’ll be bringing Cormoran up there this weekend.” she said, a lot faster than she usually spoke. Like ripping off a bandaid.

Linda isn’t usually struck dumb by much, but the stretch of silence that followed told her that she’d done it. She’d rendered her mother speechless.

“Ah… alright dear.”

“Okay…” said Robin, unsure and unable to read what her mother must be thinking right now.

“I, ah, got to run, love! See you this weekend.”

“Okay, mum!” Robin was just about to think that she just got away with dropping a bombshell on her mother when she heard Linda speak in a high, almost scandalised pitch: “And Cormoran, apparently!”

 _Crap_.

“Eh… yeah.”

“Oh, Robin!” her mother sounded harangued. “This is not… I’ve got— we’ll have a talk.”

And then the line cut. So her mum was really busy but was also really annoyed to have this sprung on her. Robin tried to shake off the feeling of an impending telling-off, reminding herself that she’s a bloody adult with her own life and can date whoever she wants.

Plus, this was also what she was expecting, and the very reason she called ahead. She was hoping that her mother would burn off her initial strong feelings before seeing Cormoran with her in person. And she won’t be able to complain that Robin had sprung it on her without prior warning because she had called.

But hearing her mother’s displeasure made real that this new development between her and Cormoran might be an uphill battle with Linda. She knew her mum would like Cormoran. She even did when they first met. Even thought it wouldn’t be so far out of left field if Robin had developed a bit of a crush on her then-boss.

It was the reality of the job that’s soured Linda on Cormoran. Robin supposed that from her mother’s point of view, Cormoran had talked her into a dangerous, seedy business and no amount of telling her mother that her life now—detective, divorced, dating Cormoran—has all been her idea.

Sighing and thinking her weekend plans was a bad decision, she walked up the metal staircase and headed back to work.

They were at the kitchenware section, Cormoran trying not to bump anyone or anything with the bags of Lucy’s shopping in his hands. That goddamn ubiquitous Alison Finlay pop song playing in the background somehow making his load even heavier. It had been years since he’d been shopping with Lucy like this, and he remembered why. There’s always just so much _stuff_. Cormoran never liked shopping for the sake of it. He thought of going to shops as supplies runs.

“What about that?” Cormoran pointed at a dutch pan that looked quite nice and was within budget.

Lucy smiled at Cormoran, looking impressed. “Agency’s got money for Le Creusets now?”

Cormoran assumed Le Creuset was a fancy brand for crockery and he did like the look of the pan, but mostly he just wanted the shopping to end. It was just under a hundred quid on sale. Bit much, he knew, but it was a 35th anniversary and he supposed whatever he gave Robin’s parents would inform them of the sort of man he was for their daughter.

“But it’s the sort of gift you give to newlyweds, Stick.” said Lucy patiently.

Cormoran briefly thought of Al’s wedding tomorrow and how he didn’t even think of getting him anything. Somehow he knew an expensive dutch pan will go over Al’s head and Cormoran will be better served not bothering at all.

“Let’s look at the tea sets.” Lucy suggested.

They landed on a handsome coral tea set that was less expensive than the pan. But Lucy said it was a good, respectable gift to give for a 35th that if she and Greg were celebrating such an anniversary, she’d be thrilled to get one herself.

“I’ll put that on my 2037 calendar.” Cormoran dead-paned. Lucy chuckled.

“You can have it engraved, too. Adds a personal touch. Michael and Linda will love that.”

“How’d you know Robin’s parents’ names?” Cormoran asked, surprised.

Lucy stared at her brother. “Because she’s important to you.” she said, as though it were obvious. Cormoran, who won’t even know the names of Greg’s parents if you put a gun to his head, felt a little shabby.

“Why didn’t you just ask Pat to do this anyway? Seems the sort of thing you’d outsource.” Lucy pointed out.

“It wouldn’t be from the agency,” said Cormoran. And then bracing himself, “This is just from me.”

Lucy seemed to ponder the significance of this pronouncement until it finally dawned on her. “Oh, Stick!” Lucy’s eyes grew wide, finally realising. She seemed so thrilled, he laughed. “Really?”

Cormoran sighed, a little regretful he and Robin were in a fight. “Yeah.”

“Oh, Stick! That’s so good!” she said, almost cooing.

He knew Lucy would be thrilled. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d spend the night at home Googling properties for sale in her neighbourhood for him and Robin to move into. He knew she loved Robin and like the rest of his immediate family and closest friends, were solidly convinced that he and Robin will eventually get together.

They spent a uniquely pleasant lunch hour where Cormoran told Lucy about the perfume and The Ritz and feeling gratified that he was coming off as the sort of person capable of conventional romance. He didn’t think it was very conventional, the effort he put for Robin specifically, but it seemed good on paper, the expensive gift and the fancy restaurant.

They parted with Lucy inviting him and Robin for dinner (he bet himself a tenner she’d have her boys trained to call Robin ‘aunt’ by then) and once again giving him a hug. “I like this for you, Stick.”

Feeling lighthearted to have spoken to someone who thinks him and Robin dating was a good idea, he replied: “I like this for me, too.”


	14. Chapter 14

_That’s how it works,_   
_you only find it_   
_when you’re not looking_

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

On Friday, Cormoran walked in on Michelle hanging some orange and black bunting in the outer office and thought if one of his detectives had time to hang bunting, they’re clearly not working enough.

Andy was on the couch, with his own laptop on the coffee table looking at what Cormoran could recognise from faraway was a pornsite. Andy’s eyebrows were furrowed in professional concentration, referring back occasionally to what Cormoran recognised was a photo from their surveillance video on Conk.

Conk, after having been told that some of his staff was possibly using his house to shoot pornos, wanted proof of the pro videos. Both Andy and Cormoran who talked to the client suspected their client was excited by the idea but both detectives didn’t really see this request to be particularly unreasonable. Cormoran, Andy, and Sam had brainstormed keywords to search on the pornsite based on what they saw on the video and that meeting had been the only thing that cheered Cormoran up the last few days. Their next plan was to try and get the pornstar names out of the staff themselves, but they were still ironing out their plan on that front.

Cormoran then noticed a bowl of candies next to Pat’s computer. Cormoran thought decor wasn’t in keeping with the nature of their business, but he nevertheless grabbed a fistful and pocketed them.

He walked inside the inner office to find Sam seated at the edge of the partner’s table, talking to Robin. They stopped when he walked in.

“Was just telling Rob I think we need to get in the Kensington flat.” said Sam about the house where they assumed their 70-year-old mark—nicknamed ‘Old Man’—was having an affair. He’d been going there nightly, every time for 3-4 hours before finally heading home.

“He always enters with his own keys, right? Always locks up. No one greeting him at the door, no one seeing him out. No one there during the daytime, either. But something has to be there.”

“We’re looking for an affair, Barclay. If there’s no other person there, shouldn’t matter to us what he does inside his own property, does it?”

Barclay’s face twisted in protest. “Strike, he’s been cagey going there. We’ve followed him the past week and he’s taken five different routes to that house. He thinks he’s being tailed, he thinks he’s throwing people off the scent.”

Cormoran looked at Robin.

“Sam,” she said, ready with an answer. “Why don’t you tail the Old Man tonight as planned and Andy can watch the Kensington flat to see if someone goes in and out.”

Barclay still looks unconvinced.

“Sam,” said Robin, firmer this time. “We’re not breaking and entering.”

“B—” Sam started to protest. Both detective partners knew that Sam had cause to think they’d be amenable to something like this. The three of them once went digging in a dell without permission.

Cormoran raised a hand, stopping Sam in his tracks. “I’ll make it easier for you, Barclay. You break into that flat, I sack you. How’s that?”

The two men glared at each other. But Sam relented, nodding. “Suppose it’s okay if it’s the great Cormoran Strike doing it, but alright.” he grumbled, exiting the office.

Robin let out a chuckle.

“Shouldn’t be too amused, he’s getting too comfortable with us.”

“Yeah, I heard you threatening to sack him.”

They looked at each other, the bedbugs business still wasn’t spent.

“You’d let him break and enter that flat, would you? It’ll be our skins—”

“I was the one who told him not to do it!” Robin retorted. “But it was a good idea.”

Cormoran raised his eyebrow.

“When we’ve exhausted all other options with Old Man, we’re gonna have to go inside that house. What did Mrs. Van der Pol say?” asked Robin about their 24-year-old client, wife of the Old Man.

“Says he’s got so many properties around, she wouldn’t know what he did and didn’t own. Knows nothing about his husband’s business. I get the impression as long as her allowance comes in, she doesn’t give two shits. She’s worried about being replaced, not being cheated on.”

“I’ll go search for property records.” said Robin, turning to her laptop as though poised to do that right now. “Maybe we’ll know for sure he owns it and she can find us a key.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” Cormoran asked. “Sam stepping out of line?”

Robin looked confused. He knew she and Sam got on. “Oh come on, he’s made suggestions—”

“He didn’t check in the other day before deciding to stay on Peach instead of going to Conk’s. Doesn’t stay on top of his paperwork. Doesn’t text--”

Robin laughed.

“I don’t think it’s funny.”

“No, I think you’re right.” said Robin. “I think Sam _is_ getting comfortable.”

She stood up and walked up to Cormoran who was still leaning against the door. He was quite surprised when she wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s a good thing.” she said, reassuringly. “He knows he’s working for someone who doesn’t think of him as a foot soldier.” She kissed his cheek and the side of his lip curled up. “Your people like working for you. They know you respect their ideas.”

He felt elated, and a little turned on by Robin saying ‘your people’. Made him feel like a boss, which he is, but it’s nice to be reminded.

“You’ve forgiven me, then?” he asked, hand still on his back that’s pressed against the door. He wondered how this looks from the other side of the glass plate. He felt a little exposed that she was being this affectionate when he could hear the chatter of the entire agency outside. But this was so nice, he thought, Robin’s easy affection and intimacy. It was even mildy erotic that it was happening in the office. There’d been so little opportunity to be this way with Robin that he sometimes couldn’t believe it happened at all.

She pulled him off the door as she walked back to sit on her chair. Cormoran took the hint and walked to his side of the partner’s table.

“Are you worried about money?” she asked point-blank.

Cormoran sighed, leaning back against his chair, thinking it over. His own bank balance was telling him he hasn’t got money for regular trips to The Ritz, or really to buy a better flat than the one upstairs. He also knows he’s a little erratic with spending; quixotic gifts and free-for-all fumigations, but penny-pinching over overnights at a Travelodge. The agency was doing well. His own financial situation he would classify as slightly above destitute. He wondered idly how fast Robin would go through her bottle of Narciso and if he should budget for that now, too.

“I called the accountant,” Robin suddenly started, shuffling papers and then pulling a spreadsheet and handing it to him. “He said that as long as we keep our current workload, we’d be fine for the foreseeable future. He actually even said if we wanted to hire another full time subcontractor, there’d be money in the budget for that no problem. But I thought maybe, what if you take a salary yourself on top of the profit percentage you’re getting so you’re not blowing it all back into the...”

Charlotte had wanted to invest in the agency at the very beginning of it and he had been thankful, even at his lowest, that he didn’t take her up on her offer. Because Charlotte would never, could never be this: Robin, willing and able to work with him through the dross of payroll and bank balances and marketing and all other bullshit needed to build a business. And Charlotte would never, could never be compassionate, not even to Cormoran who she was meant to have loved.

He listened to Robin talk about finances for awhile, thinking how very much he loved her just then.

“I think even with just three cases—”

Cormoran sat back up. “No.”

“No?” Robin looked at him, annoyed at his curt remark.

He owed Robin truths now, aware that he was blurring the lines of life and work and love irrevocably even more. But he doesn’t care, thinking now that Robin deserved—at the very least—everything.

So he told Robin about the struggles that he’s had building the business, how bad it was that year they met, how much of a stroke of luck it had been for her and even John Bristow to burst into his life when they did. How complacency terrified him because he knew they could be a bad season or bad year away from not having any work. And Sam’s got a family, and Andy’s got health stuff, and Pat’s got dependents…

“And how’s Michelle going to keep her cat in nice clothes if we haven’t got work enough for her?” Cormoran joked to soften the air of confessional that seemed to have blanketed the inner office.

Robin walked to his side of the table and sat on his lap. She held his face in her hands and he stared at her kind blue gray eyes and they kissed, not quite caring they probably shouldn’t be doing this at the office.

Robin looked into Cormoran’s weary face, bursting with the want to tell him she loves him, feeling so lucky to be with someone she genuinely thought a good man. All her previous doubt ebbing away because she can’t bear the idea of losing this now that she has it: his vulnerability and openness and kindness and sturdy, reassuring breadth.

They stared at each other awhile, words of love hovering though not quite yet materialising, sitting in the sounds of work chatter outside reassuring them of the life and growth of what they were building together.


	15. Chapter 15

_Your uncle Bev has got bigger and better things_   
_ahead of him. He doesn’t have time for spite._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Robin’s rubbed elbows with her fair share of VIPs before. Her line of work has had her attending smart parties, putting on a character to pretend that she fits in with society people. She supposed she did reasonably well in those instances, but those had been different. She assumed characters, had singular goals. She didn’t much care the impression she made on anyone (in fact, the less impression, the better) because she was always there as a detective.

Part of why Cormoran agreed to go to Al’s party and brought Robin along was to keep their eyes peeled for Kristen Whitley who Michelle overheard tell a friend on the phone was planning to crash Gabriella’s brother’s wedding. But Robin isn’t there as just a detective. Actually, the tightness of Cormoran’s grip on her hand told her she might not be there as a detective at all.

And now that she has to be herself, she felt more than a little self-conscious that they might be attending the social event of the season. For instance, she was very certain she just accidentally bumped into Rihanna.

The wedding seemed to be themed ghoulish steampunk meets circus cabaret. The invite encouraged guests to come in fancy dress, and Robin thought she’d look conspicuously out of place in her Roberto Cavalli, but guests seemed to come in all sorts, some in costume while others just in dark suits and dresses. She spotted a cocktail table of familiar telly actors who seemed to have strolled in from the street in casual wear.

Cormoran was in a dark shirt and dark suit himself, and even through the discombobulating club lighting of the venue, Robin could tell he was scowling.

Both she and Cormoran were thinking the exact same thing: that this looked nothing like the last wedding they’d been to, and that the last wedding they’d been to had been Robin and Matthew’s.

Robin decided she already liked this weird party. She was feeling nervous about being faced with the usual telltale frills of weddings that have yet to shed their Matthew Cunliffe associations. Knowing nothing here was going to trigger her discomfort over her own past mistakes, that’s one less thing to be discomfited by, which was a relief because there’s a lot of other things that were causing her discomfort.

She spotted Jonny Rokeby near the stage of the room, in a large and plush velvet-roped section man-spreading as he spoke with leathery-looking men she recognised as members of The Deadbeats. The way Cormoran stiffened behind her told her he saw him too.

Robin turned around. “Will you promise not to punch anyone tonight?”

Cormoran let out a chuckle. “Why would I punch anyone? Go on, I think we’re over there.” he gestured from behind Robin. She didn’t move.

“I didn’t hear you promise.” she said. They’re both wise to each other’s wiles on this front.

“No punching.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He held one hand up, another on his chest. “I promise no punching.”

“Okay.” said Robin reluctantly, wondering if Cormoran was thinking of a workaround.

They walked past little cabaret tables, excusing themselves through packed clumps of people and sometimes elaborate headdresses. It amazed Robin that Al’s guest list were more famous people than not. She didn’t know what Al did, other than he once told her he was talking to ‘partners’ about ‘leisure opportunities’. He owned that fancy restaurant they went to on her birthday, and there was also that scandal about that failed music festival, but to Robin none of those sounded like _jobs_.

She’d caught the eye of an actor she recognised from that new _Musketeers_ drama and tried not to blush as he winked at her.

Her self-consciousness was growing. Unlike the people around her, she has a salary that she works non-stop for. If her profile has raised in the last five years, it was nothing compared to the popstars and models surrounding her now. Even Cormoran, it occurred to her now, was _proper_ famous. He rejects it, but the facts of his birth and the successes of the agency (mostly attributed to him in the papers) made him fit in with these people. No one will think him a social climber or hobnob-er. No one will think anything of him in an off-the-rack suit while she felt a little foolish prancing around in an off-season Roberto Cavalli that was the best of her clothes, when some of these heiresses probably have underwear more expensive than her entire outfit.

It was finally dawning on her that she was on ‘boyfriend’s family turf’ and ‘boyfriend’s family’ were the sort to casually date minor royals or have Stephen Spielberg at their wedding. (She just spotted Stephen Spielberg with Al’s mum, film producer Jenny Graham.)

Most unhelpfully, Charlotte crossed her mind, adding to the compressed thoughts and feelings blaring in her mind not made easy by the external stimulus coming at her from every direction.

She wished she could drink, but she and Cormoran planned on driving up to Masham as soon as it was okay to leave.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” exclaimed a male voice when they walked past.

“Guy,” said Cormoran matter-of-factly, holding out his hand for a shake to which Guy Some ignored in favor of an air-kiss that Cormoran neither rebuffed nor returned.

“My, haven’t we done well for ourselves?” said the fashion designer. “Modern day Sherlock Holmes and his pretty assistant.” Guy gave Robin a swift look from head to foot with that sort of face that told Robin Guy knew she was wearing a 5-year-old dress. “Jonah, look who it is!”

A tall, handsome, black man beamed at them as he shook Cormoran’s hand and leaned over to give Robin an air-kiss. “Of course!” said Jonah Agyeman. “I was hoping to see you two here.”

They were held up by Jonah, Guy, and their table for a few minutes as they heard their own most public triumphs repeated to them. Guy didn’t seem to miss an opportunity to allude to the fact that Cormoran once slept with the bride. Both detective partners bore this with perfunctory smiles, Cormoran with a sense of having to endure something great while Robin tried to will her face not to burn as Guy also made assumptions and asides that she and Cormoran came together as a couple.

“Oh, thank god!” said a voice, and Robin was surprised to feel someone lightly squeeze her shoulder and then even more surprised to be face to face with Gabriella Pearson. “Al’s been worried you wouldn’t come!” she said, pulling Cormoran for a quick, distracted hug that took even him aback.

Awkwardly, Cormoran introduced Robin to his sister. “Er, this is my partner, Robin.”

“Yes,” she huffed, still quite distracted and frazzled as though she’d been organising the entire event. “Robin, yes.” she said, giving Robin a distracted hug as well.

It was wild to Robin to be meeting Gabriella, whom the agency has been tailing for nearly a month now. She looked very different tonight than even last night where her face looked puffy from not having make-up on. Tonight she was made-up, in a nice dress and a bright—if distractible—smile that made her look years younger and highlighted her pretty face well. It was finally impressed upon Robin that she was a well-known celebrity in her own right, because she finally looked like it. It also struck her now that they probably should have dropped Mrs. Whitley as a client when they found out about Gabriella. This is getting too weird!

“We’re over there.” she said, leading them away from Guy Some and Jonah Agyeman towards a sectioned-off booth opposite where they found Jonny Rokeby. She urged them to sit on the couch and squeezed next to Cormoran, sipping a cocktail as she scrolled on her phone. “…no planning, but you know Al—” she said, and then put the phone on her ear.

“Yeah, found him. Yeah.” said Gabriella. “He’s with Robin, yeah.” she said, as though they all knew each other and regularly kept in touch. She hung up her phone, took another sip, and finally seemed to settle and put her attention to the two of them.

Gabriella, Robin thought, looked nothing like Cormoran. Large eyes, small face, button nose. Robin is reminded of a Disney princess grown up but haven’t quite shed her whimsy. She looked nothing like the rest of her siblings, not even the sister she shared both parents with. None of Rokeby’s children looked like each other. Except their dark eyes. Robin thought she had Cormoran’s eyes, and then also thought how extraordinary that was.

“The thing with the doctor!” Gabriella exclaimed, and like Jonah Agyeman, she started repeating what she knew about the case to them. “And the way that awful woman did it!” she gulped a sip of her cocktail. “Can’t believe the Daily Mail printed practically a how-to. We’ve got to worry about copycats now…” she was saying.

Both Robin and Cormoran knew she was referring to a recent case in the news that seemed to have copied how Margot Bamborough’s killer harmed victims thanks to a Daily Mail article written by a certain Dominic Culpepper detailing as to how it could’ve been done.

Gabi’s phone buzzed and Robin’s quick eye was able to see that it was a new message from an unknown number. She watched as Gabi opened it and color drained from her face. Kristen Whitley was here.

Gabi excused herself rather suddenly. Robin gave her a head start before standing up to follow her. Except Cormoran hadn’t let go of her hand and pulled her back down.

“Wha—” she said, confused. “Buzz is—”

“I know.” said Cormoran, eyes past her. “It’ll keep. Just stay here.”

She turned around to see four of Rokeby’s children, with their partners, now walking up to them.


	16. Chapter 16

_BARBARA: We’re your sisters._  
_IVY: I don’t feel that connection very keenly._

Tracy Letts  
_August: Osage County_

One of the first thoughts Cormoran had at seeing his Rokeby siblings was wondering if his pube-like hair would look less so if he grew it out like Daniella, whose curls were dark and wild and rested like a mop on her head but definitely suited her well and not at all pube-like.

Eddie’s hair was also dark and curly and long (past his shoulders) that overpowered his long, fair, and thin face. He had the air of someone who ought to perpetually be holding an acoustic guitar. Nothing like his brother Al, who was round-faced and sun-kissed, stocky and the shortest of Rokeby’s children.

Eddie gave him a nod while quite warmly introduced himself to Robin in a soft voice that sounded almost Irish. Cormoran remembered that Jenny Graham is Irish.

“Robin, hello.” he said, holding out his hand. He kissed the back of her hand when she gave it. He didn’t introduce himself, taking it for granted that Robin must already know who he is. “Ali,” he said, pointing to the woman behind him. It was famous popstar, Alison Finlay, wearing what to Cormoran was black underwear under very see-through black lace. “Ali, Corm and Robin.”

He wished these effin’ strangers would stop calling him effin’ Corm.

(But also, a part of him didn’t truly resent it. Uninterested with Rokeby as he may be, he cannot deny the curiosity he possesses towards his siblings.)

He remembered Alison’s ubiquitous song playing in the crockery aisle when he and Lucy were shopping the other day. The popstar gave both him and Robin air-kisses and then stood, quite awkwardly in front of them before they realised she wanted them to scooch over so she could sit on the long couch between Robin and Eddie.

Dani was up and now in front of him, awkwardly unsure how to react, before awkwardly giving him also a kiss hello. She pulled up by the hand a beautiful wisp of a brunette with light eyes that Cormoran had been surprised was introduced as Daniella’s wife. Georgina, she was called, and also greeted Cormoran and Robin with a timid, “Oh, hello.”

Coming face to face with Prudence wasn’t any better. Prudence was a very famous actress in her own right, with a colourful childhood and family background that rivalled his own. Orphaned at nine, but worth a hundred million dollars, she famously found counsel who will help ensure she was raised by her stepfather’s sister instead of Jonny Rokeby and Jenny Graham who were quite keen on taking her.

Cormoran remembered hearing about the case—so huge it reached him in Germany—and thinking, before he could stop himself, how lucky this child was to be fought for. And then unhelpfully asking himself what about him hadn’t been worth that same fuss. He was almost glad he heard about it right before hell week, as he became too physically exhausted to think too much of his daddy issues.

But if there was any tension between them born of exchanges in the last year, she didn’t show it. Like Gabriella, she greeted him with a warm, “Hi, Corm!” and gave him quite a hug. “Finally!” she added, as though their exchanges had been pleasant and built up to a familial relationship instead of what they were: curt and tense. But he remembered opening the possibility of meeting and knowing Prudence and facing her now, he found that he meant it.

She, too, came with a date. A no-doubt well-bred man named Hans who reminded Cormoran of Matthew Cunliffe. Only Maimie—tall, fine-boned, thin, haughty—and likely her teenaged son, bypassed Cormoran and Robin and walked around to sit on the very opposite end of the booth. Cormoran wasn’t surprised.

All of a sudden, the situation had an unreal quality to it. Like he was in a movie, or _watching_ a movie—acrobats just dropped in silks from the ceiling to wow the audience—thinking how very far removed this is from his actual life. This isn’t his family, this isn’t his people. This isn’t the sort of weddings he attended. He isn’t the sort to consort with popstars and models. He’s a soldier. He’s known hardship and hard work and hard times.

He felt a tug and then a squeeze of his hand. He didn’t realise he’d stood up. Robin, who had been talking to Alison Finlay, was looking up at him, confused.

“Oh!” Gabriella smiled at him as she squeezed past him, clearly thinking he had stood up to give her space. “Edwin,” she said of her MP husband trailing after her. Bespectacled Edwin Pearson had a young handsome professor look about him. He shook Cormoran’s hand with both of his and then kissed Robin as they moved down the line doing the same for the rest of Gabriella’s siblings.

He didn’t let go of Robin if he could help it. He wouldn’t be surprised if their hands had grown prune-like with how sweaty his palms were. But she didn’t let go of him either. He thought himself like that donkey balloon, afloat and disconnected had it not been tethered to a base. Robin’s hand was the only thing keeping him in there. If he had been alone, he’d have left on first sight of Rokeby.

“You are the finest, loveliest, tenderest, and most beautiful person I have ever known,” beamed Ciara Porter, looking just tickled to be marrying Al who was blubbering through his beautiful bride’s sweet words. “—and even that is an understatement.” she finished.

The crowd whooped and cheered. Paul McCartney, who was officiating and apparently Al’s godfather, wiped a tear before prompting Al to give his own vows. Al just sobbed how lucky and in disbelief he was to be marrying someone like Ciara and if it was mostly incoherent, it was also quite endearing.

Robin sighed, finally feeling the stirrings of hyper-focused romance brought on by weddings. The room once blaring with noise and lights had softened and calmed into something very sentimental and wedding-like. Much as she tried not thinking of her own disastrous wedding, she couldn’t help but feel how very far from fine and lovely and tender and beautiful she found Matt as she faced him at the altar, and then how much time and pain the both of them could’ve been spared if they didn’t marry at all.

Cormoran, who was crunching pork rinds in her ear, did not seem particularly moved. She remembered him falling asleep when Matthew’s mates were giving speeches at her reception, how Stephen had to elbow him, and how he jolted disoriented by what was going on around him.

“What’s so funny?” he whispered for she giggled.

“You.” said Robin, chin on his shoulder. “Ruining the mood with your chewing.”

He smiled. “Don’t think the floor opening up to swallow us whole will ruin Al’s day, look at him.”

“He’s happy.”

“Yeah, well.” Robin sensed he was about to make some kind of snarky retort but desisted. “D’you want to go?” he asked because Paul McCartney had announced the couple as married and was now singing and playing _I Will_ as they did their first dance.

“Paul McCartney is singing a Beatles song, that’s lost on you, too?”

He shrugged. Robin shook her head in mild disbelief of him, but she laid her head against his shoulder and she felt him rest his cheek on her head and they watched emotional Al and giddy Ciara dance for awhile.

The moment Paul finished his final notes, pyrotechnics exploded and all of a sudden the sweet intimate wedding was once again back to its nightclub revelry. Robin cackled at the ridiculousness of it. “Okay, let’s go!” she half-yelled in Cormoran’s ear.

“Going already?” They looked up and Jonny Rokeby finally got to them.


	17. Chapter 17

_I’m no angel._   
_I’ve done some things_   
_I’m not proud of._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Rokeby was flanked by Peter Guillespe who stood thin and hawk-like behind Rokeby as though he were Rokeby’s personal butler. He was currently looking down on Cormoran, who was still seated, as though he was dirt under his boot.

He wished he didn’t promise Robin no punching. Although he made no promises about kicking or elbowing or head-butting.

Rokeby had the audacity to put a hand on his shoulder, and he only had time to jerk it away before he realised that photographers were now converging on them. He supposed Rokeby approached precisely for this: a quick photo-op. Some well-angled shot of Rokeby not looking like an arsehole and Cormoran not looking pissed as fuck and that’ll be enough for Rokeby to back up his frequent press releases pretending they had a relationship.

He longed to be away, and was about to stand up but a parade of his siblings and their partners walking past him and Robin had kept him on the plush chair. Rokeby seemed to be waiting for everyone to pass, no doubt for another attempt at talking to Cormoran, but Gabriella hooked her hand into her father’s arm and dragged him, and Peter, quite easily with her. He heard her ask them about something she was calling them about last week before another blast of pyrotechnics and an assortment of other loud noises drowned everything out.

“C’mon.” he heard Robin yell again in his ear, felt her hand squeezing his.

They stood up, about to head for the nearest exit when a blonde young woman in a high pony tail and black jumpsuit stepped in front of them. “Oh, sorry. I’m Kira,” said the woman, holding out her hand to Cormoran. He shook it, feeling self conscious that it was cold and wet, it had been holding Robin’s hand all night. “Jonny’s assistant. I’m supposed to take you up to the roof.”

“Why?” he asked, glaring at the woman.

“It’s okay, Kira. I’ll take him.”

Kira smiled and walked away and Cormoran noticed then that Dani was still there with them.

“Actually Cormoran, I need the loo.” said Robin and before he could tell her to stay put, her strawberry-blond head was already in the thicket of party guests milling around.

He turned back to Dani who had a look of uncertainty on her face. Like there was something she wanted to say. It reminded her of the look Margot Bamborough’s daughter Anna had that night they met in Cornwall. Right behind her was beautiful and timid Georgina, face a little worried and uncertain.

“Can we talk to you about someting?” Dani finally asked.

Robin, who was watching Gabriella as she walked away with Jonny Rokeby seem to be distracted by her phone, letting go of her father to check her messages. Jonny, who had been speaking to her stopped mid-sentence, looked at her daughter, shrugged, and then quite easily was now arm-in-arm with Alison Finlay as they headed further into the center of the party with the cabaret tables.

Gabriella seemed to be excusing herself, pushing through thicket of guests, heading for the door. Knowing it could be her only chance and seeing that Daniella and Georgina clearly wanted a word with Cormoran, she took her shot.

It felt a little wrong to leave Cormoran, but Dani seemed alright. If Gabriella was about to meet Buzz to reject her again, Buzz will definitely cause a scene and the last three weeks of them trying to keep that from happening will be for nothing.

Realising the case was about to come to a head tonight, at Al’s wedding with most of London’s paparazzi and Cormoran’s Rokeby siblings around, Robin was starting to feel truly anxious. Why on earth didn’t they drop the case weeks ago when they knew they should’ve done? Why hadn’t they tip Gabriella off earlier? She could’ve talked Buzz down, or Robin didn’t know! This is about to become very bad!

The outdoor air seemed to decompress Robin whose anxiousness was mounting partly due to the loud noises inside. Out here were just guests coming and going, loitering about for some mild quiet and chilly air.

“D’you want me to bring your car around, Miss Ellacott?” asked the valet. She didn’t even wonder how the valet recognised her on sight. She supposed that was just part of parties like this.

She smiled at the young man, thinking fast. “Have you seen Gabi walk through here? She’s due for pictures.” she said, adapting an air of a close family friend who intimately knew the family.

“Right over there,” the valet pointed with his hand as though showing her the nearest exit. Robin whipped around. Gabriella was under a no-smoking signpost, pacing around, phone pressed against her ear.

She hurried to walk up to Gabriella, unsure what she was going to say. _Gabriella we’ve been following you the last month. You have a lover named Kristen Whitley. We’re worried she’s going to expose you if you don’t…_ if she doesn’t what? What should Gabriella do?

“Ah!” she shrieked, feeling a hand around her wrist and a sharp tug pulling her to hide behind a row of Jaguars.

“What—?” Robin asked, surprised to be crouched behind a Jeep with Michelle who was still wearing her orange and black striped sweater from this morning.

Michelle looked over the car, making sure Gabriella was within line of sight. When she seemed satisfied Gabriella will stay in position, she turned to Robin.

“It’s over.”

“What do you mean?”

Michelle sighed. “Kristen’s gone. Her mum picked her up earlier this evening.”

“What?”

Michelle sighed again. “I was on Buzz like we talked about and she went here because of course she did. She managed to talk to Gabriella and I overheard her threatening she’ll expose the affair tonight and they’ll have no choice but to be together because they’ll both be outed.”

“Gabriella was asking Buzz for more time, that she was trying to get things sorted, that if she just gave her a couple of days, they can run away together.”

“What—!”

“Yeah. And Buzz didn’t look like she believed her. She gets manic episodes, Robin. Gabriella was trying to talk her down and I ended up having to step in—”

“Michelle! What—?”

“What would you have me do?” Michelle whispered urgently, looking at Gabriella again and Robin thought it’s not that she didn’t want Gabriella out of her sights, it’s because she didn’t want Gabriella to see her. “I asked them if everything was okay because they looked like they were going to have a fight and Gabriella,” Michelle sighed. “Gabriella was pretending that she didn’t know Kristen.”

“What?”

“She was doing this thing where she was going ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t know you. I think you have me mistaken for someone else…’ and just trying to walk back into the club. Kristen was shrieking, yelling that Gabriella was her lover that they’ve been together for the last two years… but no one was really around except for me. I think everyone was inside. And Kristen looked like a raving lunatic anyway, no one who heard her was probably going to believe her.”

“So she kind of broke down and was just crying and she called her mum.”

“God…” said Robin, not sure what to say. She looked back at Gabriella who was still pacing, still on her phone. “Who is she on the phone with?”

“My guess is Kristen.” said Michelle. “I think when Gabriella saw there was someone there, she panicked and pretended not to know Kristen. But I was listening to them talking, and we’ve been following them. I think they _are_ planning to run away together.”

“But Mrs. Whitley hasn’t been calling, has she?” Robin pulled out her phone. Three missed calls from their client and four unread text messages. “Shit!”

“It’s okay. I talked to her. Kristen probably thinks I’m just a kind stranger or something. I had to tell Mrs. Whitley who I was because I didn’t want her to think no one was on the job. Mrs. Whitley ended up telling me that she kept us on because she liked that someone was watching Kristen when she couldn’t, and that she’s got a disorder and was prone to erratic behavior. She was mad at first that we didn’t tell her she’d gone here and I pretended that we didn’t know this would be her destination tonight. Told her we thought maybe she was getting the money by pulling stunts for attention and posting them on the internet.”

“What?”

“What was I supposed to say?” Michelle stared at her. “That she’s here because her lover is here? If Mrs. Whitley found out we’ve been sitting on her daughter’s affair with Cormoran’s sister, she’d tell on the agency!”

Robin stared at Michelle. Cormoran and Robin weren’t quite sure if Michelle twigged why they were still on Buzz when they already had plenty on her affair with Gabriella. But Michelle didn’t ask a lot of questions and followed instructions to the letter. Except for tonight.

Michelle slumped against the back of the Jeep. “I figured we were waiting for Kristen to latch onto a different lover so you won’t have to throw Gabriella Pearson under the bus, but I don’t think there will be anybody else. We’ve run out the clock. But I think even if Kristen talks, the way she’d gone of the rails tonight, she won’t be taken seriously. So I think for the time being, Gabriella’s secret is safe.” Michelle continued.

And then as though she was saying something she tried not to say, added: “I don’t want to tell you and Cormoran how to run your business, Robin, but what was the end goal here? She clearly wasn’t going for anyone else. I think you should’ve dropped Whitley as soon as you found out about Gabriella. I should’ve also said something and that’s on me.”

Robin now appreciated that Michelle was a cop, and a good one. It was easy to forget with her looking so young and dressed so young. Even Robin sometimes forgot that Michelle had years of training under her belt that Robin herself didn’t have.

“I didn’t say anything because I needed this job, and I wasn’t yet sure what kind of detectives you two were—” they looked at each other, Michelle looking as though she still isn’t sure. “But no one else is going to hire me to do detective work unless it’s that shit stain Patterson. I know what happened tonight wasn’t ideal, but I couldn’t blow up the three week op when you two were clearly angling to protect Gabriella.”

“Michelle, I…” Robin started, though unsure what she should say. She wondered what Cormoran would do in this scenario. Certainly he wouldn’t be speechless. And she supposed Michelle would’ve been fired long before she’d be able to tell her whole story.

“To be fair,” Michelle said when Robin didn’t continue. “I think Kristen probably does need professional help, poor thing.”

After a stretch of silence, Michelle again spoke. “I’m kind of glad it was you that showed up out here because Cormoran would’ve fired me before I finished my story.” And then sighing. “I like working for you and I hope I keep doing that, but I suppose you have things to think over now.”

Michelle finally stood up. “Is she still there?”

Robin craned her neck. Gabriella wasn’t pacing around the non-smoking sign anymore. She shook her head.

Michelle smiled. “You look nice.” and then, “I better go home and feed Cujo.”


	18. Chapter 18

_We’re just people, some of us_   
_accidentally connected by genetics,_   
_a random selection of cells._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

It was Cormoran’s proximity to the Rokeby’s that was keeping him from returning Mrs. Whitley’s increasingly frantic text messages. He, in turn, had texted Michelle asking where she was and what was going on. Michelle only replied with, ‘Talked to Robin.’ which Cormoran supposed explained her current absence at this nightmarish reunion he wished he wasn’t at.

He couldn’t leave, kept at the rooftop by Rokeby’s gentle but firm entourage asking him what he needed to make sure he stayed put. Everyone else was there, in their own corners with their own partners. From what he could tell, only the newlyweds and Gabriella wasn’t yet at the rooftop. At least Rokeby was keeping his distance, preoccupied with a black baby he supposed was Dani and Georgina’s child.

He knew he was being held hostage for photos. He didn’t want to be part of photos, especially not one Rokeby can use to pretend he’s got a happy complete family to the press, but he wasn’t here for Rokeby. He felt duty-bound to Al, not like how he felt duty-bound to Lucy, but he well understood that Al considers him his big brother and that the least his big brother could do at his wedding was to endure pictures.

So endure it he shall.

Grumpy and wishing he was more of a prick to Al, he called Robin. No answer. She wouldn’t leave, he knew that. Gabriella’s absence also told him they could be tied up on Buzz. Maybe there was an altercation now downstairs. He craned over the railing to see if there was any sign of anything from where he was standing. Nothing. Just a loiter of smoking guests. He took out a fag himself.

“Hey, stranger.”

Cormoran turned to see Ciara Porter looking stunning in a white lace top and short tulle skirt, looking as though she was out for a night in the town instead of her wedding. But the off-beat almost casual attire didn’t take away from her striking prettiness. In fact, being surrounded by people in varying states of formal and fancy dress seemed to enhance her natural beauty. Unlike everyone else there, she doesn’t have to try.

He turned to face her, smiling. “Gatsby.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re the only one who got that!” she said, playfully pushing Cormoran by the arm. “I’ve been getting compliments.” Cormoran had been amused earlier that the vows Ciara had so adorably uttered and reduced guests to tears were lifted from _The Great Gatsby_.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” he said, blowing smoke away from her.

“I remembered you were clever.” she said turning to look out into the night sky.

There was silence, and Cormoran thought of the night they spent together, how different he was then, and even, how much he remembered liking her. Probably not the best of things to think about regarding a sister-in-law. And even that thought was taking him for a spin! Ciara Porter, model, famous for sunbathing nude on A-lister super yachts, is now his sister in law.

He offered her one of his Benson & Hedges. She shook her head. “Pregnant.”

“Shit! Sorry!” said Cormoran, immediately dropping his cigarette and stomping on it. “I mean, congrats.”

Ciara laughed.

Cormoran’s eyes invariably travelled down her body. She didn’t look pregnant. And then he looked out into the night again. Probably shouldn’t be looking too much at sister-in-law.

“Thanks.” said Ciara.

“Is that what why…” he started. Knowing just from Ciara’s eye roll that he had said the wrong thing.

“I happen to like Al.” she protested. “And you would’ve known earlier if you haven’t been ignoring him all year.”

“Yeah, well, bit busy this year.”

He felt her squeeze his arm. “Sorry about your aunt. Al told me.” Ciara looked like she meant it.

“Thanks.” he said.

“Thanks for coming.” said Ciara. “Means a lot to Al. He looks up to you, you know.”

Silence again. Ciara was why Al insisted on a face-to-face weeks ago, to tell Cormoran that it was Ciara he was marrying, that he knows about the two of them, that it wasn’t a big deal, and that it would mean the world to them if he came to the wedding.

Surprised at himself that he was even curious, he asked, “How’d that happen, then?”

Ciara smiled coyly. “Because of you.”

When Cormoran looked surprised and bewildered, she laughed. “D’you remember the last time we talked? I asked you out and you turned me down.”

It felt like a lifetime ago but Cormoran did remember. A few weeks after the Lula Landry solve hit the papers, Ciara inviting him back to her flat. The implication was very clear, and he remembered being thoroughly tempted. But she called when he’d been driven out of his office by a swarm of paparazzi, and he remembered just how much her lifestyle courted that same attention and he can’t do his job and be willing tabloid fodder at the same time.

“You called him instead, then?” Cormoran asked, referring to Al and unsure what Ciara was getting at.

“I did, yeah. I told him you were kind of a dick and he said I had you all wrong. Wouldn’t hear a bad word about you, Al.” she reminisced, as though she found the memory to be particularly sweet.

Absurd as it was for Ciara to be telling him this after marrying his brother in front of London’s celebrities, was nonetheless gratified that beautiful Ciara had wanted him. And he considered, irrelevantly, that she now would only be what? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven?

“But yeah, we hung out after that. He was very supportive when I decided to put the whole modelling thing on hold to go to Oxford. Everyone else kind of turned on me because of that. Except Guy, who didn’t love it, but stuck by me anyway. After that whole thing with Lul—anyway,” she sounded as though recalling that whole time was painful.

“You finished it then? Oxford?” Cormoran asked, helping her change subject.

She smiled. “Yeah. Useless, of course. English Literature?” Ciara giggled. “But I loved it. Thinking of just going for my Masters and then a PhD or something since modelling’s out the window.”

“Why?” Cormoran asked, surprised, looking up and down her body again before resolutely looking away. Ciara looked pretty model material in his opinion.

Ciara laughed again. “A married twenty-seven year old about to push a baby out of her fanny? In model years, I’m geriatric. Even Guy only uses me for his accessories line, and we’re practically family!” she shrugged. “I don’t know, I think I’ll just do the whole wife and mum thing. Then give people a good shock when they find out I’ve got all these Oxbridge degrees.”

Cormoran gave a polite chuckle.

Cormoran wasn’t really surprised at Ciara’s ease at the situation she put herself in: sleeping with a man and later on marrying his brother. He knew that beautiful, rich, famous people are not fussed over overlaps like that. They’re like royalty, the smaller the dating pool, the less chances of consorting with the commoners.

“Can I ask you something?” Ciara asked suddenly.

“That was a question,” Cormoran retorted, enjoying how Ciara rolled her eyes. “But you can ask another one.”

“Al told me he helped you solve that case with the author.” said Ciara. “Did he?”

“He did.” said Cormoran immediately, remembering how Al had tackled Elizabeth Tassel who was trying to make a final break for it. “Stopped a psycho murderer for me.”

Ciara’s face lit up like he’d just given her a present she really wanted. “I thought he was just putting it on!”

“No,” Cormoran insisted, amused by her reaction. “She would’ve gotten away if Al hadn’t rugby-tackled her to the ground.” Of course, Tassel was in her 60s, had serious lung damage, was shaken by a car crash, and was in high-heel stilettos when she tried to give chase, but Ciara didn’t need to know the details.

Ciara smiled to herself and Cormoran was fascinated that he felt genuine joy for his brother to have married someone who seemed proud of him.

Just past Ciara, Cormoran’s eyes fell to Rokeby again who had the little baby tucked over his shoulder as he gently pat her back, trying to lull it to sleep. Ciara turned to look at where he was looking.

“He’s actually not that bad, you know.” she said.

He only snorted.

“Better than mine,” she muttered and Cormoran remembered how it was Guy Some who gave her away, and how in this rooftop full of Rokebys, it seemed there was no blood relations representing the Porters.

“Isn’t it crazy?” Ciara suddenly started. “Like, we’re sort of related now!" she looked as though she was dawning onto something, “Like, you’re my brother!”

“In law.” he clarified, but he thought he felt the same pull of inexplicable fate.

“Like,” she continued. “My child is going to call you Uncle Cormoran. How weird is that!”

Very weird, Cormoran agreed. And as though he finally got it, it struck him now too that Ciara’s inevitable baby would be as much his niece or nephew as Jack is. That the little black baby Rokeby is currently lulling to sleep is also his niece. He wasn’t much for forced-upon ties of birth, but even the simple factual truth of it, he had to admit, was extraordinary.

“Strange, who becomes family.” said Ciara.

“Yeah.” Cormoran wouldn’t go as far as call the people on the rooftop ‘family’, but he supposed it is strange for him to be connected with these people.

And then Ciara reached out to wrap her long thin arms around his midsection, and he put his own arm around her. He couldn’t explain the immediate, existing fondness he has for her. It wasn’t untoward, he thought. He shuddered now at the thought of even thinking of Ciara like that. Perhaps people just click.

“When they call for pictures,” she said, pulling away from him. “Please don’t be a nightmare!” she then tiptoed to kiss him on the cheek before twirling away.


	19. Chapter 19

_If it’s your father_   
_tell him to_   
_fuck off._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Robin was mulling over what Michelle had done tonight as she headed for the rooftop where Cormoran likely was by now. The party was still in full swing, it was only half-past ten. She ducked, trying to avoid that _Musketeers_ actor who seemed to be heading her direction. She detests male attention, though she can’t pretend it wasn’t flattering. (He was very handsome and if she was available, she would’ve been very interested to meet him.)

She finally found the only staircase, behind black glass double-doors manned by two bouncers on either side. She had seen them stop others from walking through, but allowed a greying man in a suit to push the door open, and when she followed after, they didn’t stop her, either.

She was already on the stairs, following the man, when another very tall and very handsome man in a light blue suit seemed to be walking briskly down the stairs. “Family only.” he said in an American accent, and Robin wasn’t sure if he was talking to her. But the man ahead of her reacted.

“I would argue my wife and child being up there makes me family.”

The American didn’t stop his brisk walk down the stairs, attention half on his phone. “Suit yourself, Colin. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You too, Miss Ellacott. I wouldn’t bother if I were you.”

Robin was surprised to have been named by the strange American, who quite harshly pushed open the glass door to the outside and then pressing his phone to his ear as he disappeared back into the party.

Robin looked back up the other man who seemed to be thinking.

“What do you think? Should we try and make trouble?” he asked her, and Robin was surprised to see he was smiling, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He sighed and then finally turned around, heading downstairs. “Join me for a drink?”

Robin, though bewildered, was also curious. And this had her accepting the man’s invitation.

“Don’t think we’ve met. Colin Wright,” said the man, extending his hand.

“Robin Ellacott.”

“Yes. You’re the detective with one of Rokeby’s sons.”

“Yep,” said Robin as they arrived at another closed off little area where the blaring sounds of the party seemed muffled, and there were bartenders around taking drink orders. There were mostly suited men there, older ones with far younger female companions. The Deadbeats sans Jonny retired to a few tables away from them, and Robin thought she spotted a creepy-looking Hollywood producer and Kevin Spacey in one corner having whiskys and cigars.

When the bartender arrived, she ordered a coffee while Colin ordered a whisky.

“You’re not married to… Cameron, is it?”

“Cormoran, and no.” said Robin, feeling a jolt of anxiety at the idea.

“No, don’t suppose you are. Otherwise, you’d have been invited for the pictures.” said Colin. “Although that isn’t a guarantee with ol’ Jonny.”

By process of elimination, Robin supposed Colin was Maimie’s husband. Colin Wright looked perhaps in his fifties, a typical-looking well-dressed man with hair greying at the sides sporting dark-framed glasses that suited him well.

“How’d you mean?” Robin asked, deducing the man was feeling loquacious and she had been invited to be a temporary confidant, bonded together by being rejected from the reunion at the rooftop.

He looked bewildered, smiled, then asked, “How old are you?”

Robin was taken aback. “Sorry?”

He shrugged, sipping his whisky. “Been married to Maimie for twenty-three years but the old bastard still hasn’t forgiven me.” said Colin. “Not even when he got his cancer diagnosis and suddenly turned into Saint Jonny, asking everyone for forgiveness and all that shit—somehow I didn’t make the cut.”

Robin didn’t really know what to say to that. She was also doing some math in her head. She knew Maimie and Cormoran were only a year or two apart. If he’d been married to Maimie for twenty-three years, they’d have been married very young.

“That’s Jonny for you. Hounding all his children these last two years to forgive him, getting Al to pester his siblings for that damned photo—” he smirked. “Good on Cameron for not going. Shook the old bastard up. Gave him a taste of his own medicine. Can’t be bloody forgiving himself, can’t expect to be bloody forgiven, can he?”

“No, I suppose not.” said Robin, suspecting Colin had already been well drunk before the whisky he’s currently putting away.

He smirked again. “Nerve of that bastard! Alright for him to fuck around and impregnate nineteen-year-olds, but I marry his daughter, love her, do right by her and he’s—” Colin shakes his head again. “It’s bloody humiliating, what he’s put our family through. If it’s just me, fine. Fuck it! But James—sorry, you’re very easy to talk to.”

Robin gave a perfunctory smile. She hadn’t tried anything to be easy to talk to, but she knew men who wanted to talk would do so and would prefer to feel that the person they were talking at was a willing participant. But she did feel bad, realising who Colin Wright must be now.

It was one of those celebrity urban legends that you don’t remember knowing but somehow just knew. Jonny Rokeby had once broken a session musician’s tooth when he slapped the musician’s saxophone in anger. And then it was revealed that the session musician, who was around Rokeby’s own age of forty, had run off with the rockstar’s then eighteen year old daughter.

“Thanks, bruv.” said Al, hugging Cormoran after he endured fifteen minutes of all sorts of fussy photo configurations there were. He was very annoyed by all of it, particularly when celebrity photographer Duncan Gilfedder asked him to smile exactly the same way he asked Gabriella’s children to smile. They were 5 and 3.

There wasn’t a photo of Rokeby with just his children, which Cormoran suspected Al did not request for his benefit.

“Congrats, Al.” he said again, returning the hug for once.

When Al finally let him go (the hug ran a touch longer than Cormoran thought necessary), he saw Rokeby walking up to them, lifting the three year old who shrieked and laughed as she was whisked up.

“Glad you could join us, Corm.” he said, attention half on the toddler who was peppering his cheek with kisses. He hoped he was using the child as buffer keeping Cormoran from capping him in the knees, because if Rokeby thought this is making Cormoran think he’s less of a cunt than he really was, he’s got another thing coming.

“I was just telling bruv, dad. Nice to have all of us in one room, finally.”

“You look well.” said Jonny. “Read about the case with the doctor. What you did…” said Rokeby, the dark eyes he passed on to Cormoran boring into his own pair.

Cormoran’s only thought was whether the three year old would understand if he told her grandfather to go fuck himself.

“Makes us proud.” he said.

“Makes you proud, does it?” he heard himself say it as soon as his ears heard what Rokeby uttered.

“Bruv,” Al stepped between Cormoran and his father, immediately quelling. And etched on Al’s face was imploration for his big brother not to cause a scene at his wedding.

“Thanks for inviting me and Robin, Al.” he said. “Ciara,” he added, walking up to the bride who was surprised to have been air-kissed goodbye.

He headed for the stairs, Rokeby blocking his path. He could feel everyone’s eyes on them now. Rokeby still had the little girl in his arms, clutching at his neck, sensing the tension between her grandfather and Cormoran, this large strange man in the midst of her family.

“A conversation,” said Rokeby, with a mixture of imploration and negotiation. He could just see Robin’s strawberry gold hair starting to emerge. He wanted to shove Rokeby out of the way, but gaping small children prove to be effective shields against this. He side stepped.

“Cormoran, son—!”

His blood boiled at the cunt’s audacity to call him that, when he had never been a father to him in any sense. But his rush of anger was snuffed out before it took real root, seeing Robin’s face now, not quite her usual not only because of the bold make-up, but the sheer look of terror in her expression.

For a moment he thought Luca Ricci had a knife pointed behind her, he was so close to her. But Robin ran to him when she saw him and buried her face in his chest.

“You okay?” he whispered so only she could hear. Robin nodded against him, and Cormoran knew she was trying to hide her face. He held her to him as Luca and Marco Ricci walked past them both, not giving Cormoran or Robin a second look.

“Al! You beautiful bastard!” he heard one of them exclaim from behind him. He could only see Rokeby’s staff in front of him, the same people who had been keeping people off the roof somehow knew their directive did not include keeping mobsters at bay. How the rest of the Rokebys reacted to the intrusion, Cormoran no longer cared. Although he could’ve sworn he heard Al’s nervous laughter, the only thing he cared about at that moment was to get Robin out of there.

“Turn around,” he told her. “Head straight downstairs. But not too fast.” he instructed, but Robin didn’t need telling. She walked an even pace, walking down the stairs, Cormoran not far behind her, deaf now to whoever it was trying to call him back.


	20. Chapter 20

_Barb steps out onto the porch as it reverses,_   
_slams into gear and accelerates down the drive,_   
_spewing gravel as it goes._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

“Shit.” said Cormoran, hand gripping the Land Rover’s steering wheel so hard, it was turning white.

“Could you slow down? They’re not chasing after us.” said Robin, who was getting a bit nauseous from the night and nearly coming face-to-face with mobsters again, and now contending with Cormoran’s jerky driving of her car. He’s never driven it before.

Robin ran into Marco and Luca Ricci at the enclosed staircase up the rooftop. She remembered how the two men looked at her, smiling as they leered, moving aside to let her walk up ahead of them. If Luca recognised who she was, he hid it well, but she felt how close he had been as she walked up the stairs, and thought it lucky she’d changed her perfume since the last time they were in close proximity.

Cormoran seemed to look confused at the car’s levels and such before he figured out how to slow down.

“How does Al know the Ricci’s do you think?” Robin asked.

“Shanker can tell me how the Rokebys know the Ricci’s. Probably good we’re getting out of town for a few days in any case. We’ve kept them out of the Bamborough story so they haven’t got reason to come after us yet, but we’re on their radar for sure.”

“What about your siblings, though? They were all there!”

“I think if they ended up opening fire at that rooftop, we’d have heard of it by now.” Cormoran joked, but his eyes for a split second wandered to his phone which stayed silent.

“That’s not funny. There were babies up there.” said Robin, cross and on edge.

“No, it isn’t.” Cormoran agreed. “It probably serves them well to be connected to the Rokebys,” he continued. “They won’t harm anyone there unless they have good reason to. They’re all far too rich and famous.”

To Robin, who was still rattled, Cormoran sounded nervously hopeful than factually reassuring. She went on Twitter, searching for Rokeby. If something did happen at that rooftop, the first place it’ll hit would be Twitter. There were endless photos of the night. She even saw her own emerald dress in corners. _Damn_ , she hadn’t realised how conspicuous her dress is under flash photography.

One tweet said ‘Rokeby’s all accounted for!’ featuring a photo of their group seated at the velvet-roped sectional. The way the cameraman caught Cormoran mid-palming pork rinds to his mouth told Robin it was taken during the vows exchange. It made her laugh a little, tension brought about by the Ricci’s lifting for a blissful moment until everything came crashing back all at once.

“We’re done with the Whitley case,” she started thinking it was as good a time as any to lay down everything that happened with Michelle. Lump all the bad shit together.

Predictably, Cormoran had some reactions, and Robin had to head him off a couple of times to keep him listening instead of attempting to fire Michelle right off the bat. It did not help with his jerky driving and when she tried to switch with him, he just grew even more cross.

When Robin was done, it was midnight and there were still three hours left to their drive. They didn’t speak for the next 30 minute stretch. Robin supposed Cormoran was thinking it over. She even thought she could guess what was going through his mind, how he was coming to the conclusion she also had that Michelle stepped out of line tonight, but also showed loyalty and obedience with this case, even when she wasn’t sure Cormoran and Robin were doing the right thing.

“If it happens again—” Cormoran started and Robin instantly knew he meant Michelle.

“I think if we tell her what we’re up to, it won’t happen again.” said Robin, confident of this. She knew they kept crucial details about this case from Michelle because she was new, and because Cormoran’s sister was tied up into it.

“But if it happens again—” Cormoran repeated.

Robin sighed. “I’ll sack her myself.” said Robin.

Satisfied, Cormoran finally pulled over, and even when Robin saw Cormoran limping a little after driving her car for an hour, she didn’t say anything.

It was a little past 3 AM when Robin finally pulled up in front of her parents’ house. Neither of them slept the entire drive up, Cormoran making sure to keep Robin awake during the long, cold, quiet ride. Robin was knackered, sure she’d fall asleep the moment her head hits the pillow. It wouldn’t be a very long rest, with her parents’ 35th celebration being a brunch at a garden venue five minutes’ drive away.

Cormoran unloaded bags as she opened the front door with her keys. She heard Roundtree whimpering awake, and his pitter patter down the stairs, followed by footsteps that told her it was probably her brothers.

The way Martin and Jonathan were eyeing her and Cormoran, with knowing sniggers on their faces, Robin deduced her mother had spent the last two days talking precisely about her.

Rolling her eyes, she headed up towards the both of them who were just standing by the stairs, watching them, not helping with bags or anything.

“We’ve had a long day, alright?” she snapped, not in a mood to be teased.

Cormoran took a few steps towards the staircase when Martin finally spoke in a whisper. “Ohohoho! Where does your gentleman caller think he’s going?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Martin and Jonathan sniggered into silent laughters. “Mum’s told us Cormoran’s staying in dad’s study!”

“Wha—“ Robin exclaimed, indignant. Martin pointed to the study and Robin could see from the glass-paned double doors a made bed she doesn’t recognise.

“It’s a pull-out she bought this week specifically for our guest.” Martin looked like he was having the time of his life, telling Robin this. “I think she’s in denial, Bobbie. Seems to think ‘it’s not that kind of relationship’ or so she was muttering.” Martin put air quotes around ‘its not that kind of relationship’.

“Jesus! Mart, could you just—” Robin tried appealing, but she knew it was futile.

“Uh, no Robs because you dropped that bombshell on mum and I’ve had to live with that seeing as I’m the only one here. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Oh, Mart!”

“Robin,” said Cormoran. The Ellacotts looked at him. Robin sighed, feeling very bad because Cormoran looked extremely tired and this must be very silly and childish for him to witness at three in the morning.

“C’mon.” she said, taking her bags off his hands and heading to the study.

It was a handsome room lined with books and surrounded by windows. Cormoran won’t have long until daybreak wakes him up. The bed looked clean and warm and new and really, to Robin, a much better option than her old double upstairs that will probably be a tight squeeze (Robin tried not to think about how she and Matt fit on her old bed no problem).

“Bathroom’s over there,” she pointed at the bathroom in the study which Cormoran headed straight for. Robin laid on the new pull-out her mother drastically bought just to keep Cormoran and Robin from sleeping together. She wished they just stayed at a B&B, but it felt weird to Robin to book at a B&B with her house right here. It didn’t even occur to her to do that! It also didn’t occur to her that her mother would buy a pullout to make a point! Robin’s thirty! And divorced! And lives in London by herself! And she’s _already_ slept with Cormoran…

She felt a squeezing of her hand and bolted upright.

Cormoran woke her up. “Sorry, didn’t want you sleeping in your clothes.”

“Oh.” she said, looking down on herself and how she was still in jeans and a sweater. He was already in pyjamas and a t-shirt. “Right.”

They looked at each other and Cormoran really looked too tired to even address this new wrench in the situation. She hopped off and sat next to him, head against his shoulder as he took off his prosthesis.

“Thanks for coming with me.” they said at the exact same time. And then they both chuckled.

Robin gave Cormoran a swift kiss on the mouth, pulled herself laboriously off the guest bed and headed upstairs to her bed for a few hours rest.


	21. Chapter 21

_I guess what I’m telling you_   
_is that I’m happy._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

When Cormoran woke up, the Ellacott’s family dog was pretty comfortably snuggled next to him on the bed. He didn’t move just yet, eyes to the door where he found Martin and Jonathan suddenly avert their eyes when he looked at them. He knew they’d been sniggering at the sight of their dog cuddled with him. They better not have taken photos.

He imagined them grown-up versions his nephews Luke and Adam. He supposed Jonathan’s owed a bit of mischief for that dinner Cormoran made a mess of last February, but he owes Martin no such thing. Martin, Cormoran supposed, is just a bit of a dick.

He looked at his phone, checking his messages and the time. It was half-past seven. He was surprised because he felt pretty well-rested, all things considered. The bed was clean and very comfortable, even though it was bought by the Ellacotts as a clear hint that he ought not to touch their daughter in their premises. They ought to have checked in a B&B or something, but he supposed Linda was like Joan who would think it preposterous for her child to sleep anywhere other than under her roof.

“Come and have breakfast, Corm!” Martin invited, knocking on the see-through door. And like a switch had been turned on, Cormoran could suddenly smell the delectable aroma of frying eggs and bacon, and remembered how little food there had been at Al’s fancy wedding.

“Hi, Cormoran!” beamed a pretty woman Cormoran recognised was Robin’s sister in law. “We were told you’d be joining us!”

She was feeding a cute baby girl who was now gaping at the large stranger who sat in front of her.

“That’s Uncle Corm, Belly!” offered up Martin, tapping the infant on the shoulder and pointing at Cormoran as though she had any hope of understanding him. It was quite funny to watch the confused baby turn to Martin and then him and then back again, but Cormoran didn’t think it was right to laugh when the baby’s mother seemed annoyed by Martin picking on her child. And then Martin knelt next to the baby, assured her that Cormoran was there to solve the mystery of her stinky poops, and then just made a fuss over her until she was shrieking non-stop with laughter.

The baby seemed to be the point of which the family converged, first giving her an abundance of attention before addressing Cormoran, who felt as though he was the elephant in the room.

Even Linda carried on a full conversation with Stephen’s wife about something or other baby-related before finally turning to him and giving him quite a pleasant “Good morning, Cormoran.”

He remembered the last time they were face to face, when Linda angrily told him what he was doing crashing Robin’s wedding. Cormoran knew Linda was a good person, (and not only because she had offered him everything on the breakfast table) but also knew she didn’t like him for her precious daughter.

He felt a little sorry about that, and even a little sorry that it didn’t matter to Cormoran in the slightest if she approved of him. He’s never had good track records with girlfriends’ families, but it has never stopped him pursuing any of them.

Breakfast was well under way when Robin finally joined the table at a quarter to eight. Like everyone else, she bounded for Annabel and gave her kisses before finally sitting next to him, smiling, and kissing him on the lips.

“Sleep well?” she asked, chin to his shoulder. She’d never been that amorous before in front of other people. Cormoran could tell she brandishing them in front of her mother, who Cormoran could also tell was pretending not to notice.

Cormoran, unsure and unwilling to be pawn, nodded and then quietly ate his breakfast.

Conversation was light and mostly about some innocuous thing the baby had done. Cormoran also learned over breakfast that Robin’s father, Michael, was a professor. Stephen was in construction, his wife Jenny was a vet, and Jonathan was studying architecture. Curiously, the conversation never veered towards their work or even the agency. He’d been asked about Joan and he thought they were very kind and sympathetic, but not even the Bamborough case came up.

Robin seemed to be bearing all that no problem, and Cormoran sensed this skirting of her job was habitual for this pleasant, perfectly normal family. Taking cues from her, Cormoran didn’t pick them up on it, either. But it was unusual, especially when everyone he’s met couldn’t shut up about wanting to talk about his work.

And then remembering he has something that could tip the scales mildly in his favor with Robin’s family, he excused himself to retrieve a gift Lucy encouraged him to get.

“I nearly forgot,” said Cormoran, feeling self-conscious as everyone’s eyes were on him when he returned to the kitchen. “I got Annabel this.” he said, handing the baby an Eeyore soft toy. He remembered Robin telling him the baby wanted the donkey balloon.

Annabel took it excitedly and immediately flung it on the floor. Jonathan dove for it before the dog claimed it for himself, but the way the family seemed thrilled that he laid onto their pride and joy a suitable offering told him he might win them over yet. As he saw Robin beam at him, he winked.

In the five hours of Linda and Michael Ellacott’s anniversary party, Robin sat still perhaps twice. A brunt of the organisation—and the paying—fell on her brother Stephen and sister-in-law Jenny. Even Martin had done a lot of the running with their parents, driving them around and just helping bring the event together. Robin promised she’d be in charge day-of, and Jonathan who was also based out of town, served as the emcee.

She didn’t remember her own wedding being this finicky, and then she supposed she had been so uninterested in the whole proceedings and bereft of the job she’d lost, a lot of the work fell on her mum and Matt’s sister.

So, she bore all the demands of the day like a champ, running around in pumps whenever the caterer or the sound guy or the florist needed needed attention. Her parents seemed thrilled to be having a fussy party where they renewed their vows. They’d had to wait five years because both Robin and Stephen initially planned weddings the same year of their actual 30th.

She periodically checked on Cormoran, craning her neck now to see him in conversationconversation with her Uncle Clive who Robin knew was a self-professed ‘Dead-beatnik’, a term Deadbeat fans of the 70s and 80s called themselves.

“Shit!” She groaned, heading for them and dreading how long he’d been in Clive’s clutches and what her drunk and chatty uncle had managed to say. She only managed to tell Jonathan to go save Cormoran before the caterers needed attending to.

“—String of Madness?” asked the drunk man Clive who introduced himself as Robin’s uncle. He was currently trying to confirm with him which song by The Deadbeats was written about Cormoran’s mother. “Sleep Obsession? Broken Rhythm? No? It _has_ to be Broken Rhythm!”

It was hard to face rudeness in a situation where he knew he ought to be on his utmost behavior.

“What are you on about, Uncle Clive?” asked Jonathan who had joined them near the buffet table as he refilled his mimosa.

“Jonny!” exclaimed Clive. Jonathan winced at the nickname. “Did Robin tell you Jonny here was named after your old man?”

“Jesus, Clive!” Jonathan twisting away from his uncle’s grip. “No I wasn’t!”

“Yes, you were. Mikey and I were old Dead-beatniks together. Saw them play Glastonbury its very first year! You look nothing like your old man.”

“I was named after Jonathan Swift,” the youngest Ellacott protested, embarrassed for his uncle’s behavior towards Cormoran.

“Nah, pal!” Clive insisted. “Mikey named you Jonny because The Deadbeats’ last studio album came out the day you were born! Good Crazy, it was called. The 31st of July. Wasn’t it, Corm?”

Jonathan made a face, “Clive, my second name is Gulliver _._ How much of the mimosas have you had? Where’s Auntie Annabel?”

But Clive was not to be deterred. “I remember it clearly because I gave your dad the album as gift, took it to the hospital—Linda wasn’t too chuffed, I hadn’t given her a present—” said Clive conspiratorially to Cormoran. “I brought a player and everything. The first song, Lost Little Man, it was. Ballad. Beautiful ballad. Your dad held you and wept. I remember that.”

Jonathan laughed. “You’re so drunk, Clive. Jesus. Let’s go find Auntie Annabel.”

“Say Cormy,” Clive turned to him again. “Is it the one about you?” and then drunken, insistent Clive started crooning lyrics to songs Cormoran hadn’t heard before. “ _Daddy’s made a million mistakes. Will you forgive me? Ever forgive me, my lost little man…”_

“No,” Cormoran said simply. This was not a unique situation for Cormoran, strangers coming up to him, feeling entitled to discuss his own life and non-existent relationship with Rokeby just because he was famous. Boundaries, Cormoran knew, did not apply to normal people’s behavior toward celebrities.

“See, Clive? Let’s go get you a cup of coffee.” said Jonathan, now ushering Clive away from Cormoran. He was about to head out for a smoke when Jonathan doubled back, looking embarrassed. “Sorry about Clive,” he said. “He’s a drinker.”

Cormoran smirked.

“And I really am named after Jonathan Swift.”

Cormoran grinned, amused that Jonathan wanted to make this point clear. “I figured as much. Saw your dad’s collection.”

Jonathan smiled before bounding off. He quite liked Jonathan, Cormoran mused, even if he might’ve been named after Rokeby.

When Robin spotted Cormoran again, he was now in conversation with her cousins Katie and Harriet, with Clive snoozing in his chair well away from her boyfriend. The way Cormoran was doing much of the talking, with her cousins look of furrowed concentration, she supposed they were talking about the Bamborough case. Unlike her immediate family, her extended family had no problem asking Robin—and now Cormoran—about their work.

There was far less surprise today when her relatives started arriving and saw famous detective Cormoran Strike at this family-only party. Al’s wedding was the biggest celeb news that day, in no small part because Jonny Rokeby’s children seem to finally all be in the same room. She herself were in some of the party photos, feeling a little relieved that she didn’t look too out of place and trollish especially next to global superstar Alison Finlay who she’d been sitting with for most of last night.

If she wasn’t so busy, she’d be bothered by the excitement of her aunts and uncles at their odd niece partying it up in London with actual celebrities. She really hoped they hadn’t bothered Cormoran too much about it. She felt embarrassed at the possibility that they would harangue him because they found him famous. She also hoped they weren’t asking nosy questions about their relationship. She’d already got a few of that from her mum’s uni mates who were particularly enjoying the bottomless mimosas.

But the party finally winded down mid afternoon, after her parents thanked everyone who came and spoke about their pride for their children. Robin cried and felt inordinately grateful to have been raised by two genuinely good people. She liked having Cormoran’s arm around her and didn’t much care that the hall of a hundred of their parents’ friends and loved ones were most certainly watching them both. _Let them talk_ , she thought. They were going to gossip about her life anyway. Might as well be about something that makes her happy.


	22. Chapter 22 (Explicit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Smut. Skippable if that's not your thing.**

_Come on,_  
_I want to show you_  
_our old fort._

Tracy Letts  
_August: Osage County_

“Hng,” Cormoran groaned, feeling a persistent squeezing at his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see a blurry figure of strawberry blonde hair looking over him. He groaned again.

“C’mon,” Robin urged, and he suddenly felt the cold metal of his prosthesis laid against his arm. “Put that on and come upstairs.”

She started pulling his arm and he finally sat upright. “Robin,” he started, thinking that he just got her parents to dislike him less today after getting Annabel’s approval and behaving admirably during their party and giving them a coral teaset they particularly enjoyed.

“Do you want to sleep with me or not?” she asked.

“Well argued.” Cormoran smirked.

He put his leg on and let her lead him out of the study before doubling back. She bent over, and Cormoran just realised she was digging around his kit bag before pulling out a strip of condoms he had thrown in there as wishful thinking. He laughed heartily before Robin shushed him.

“How’d you know that was there?” he asked as they tip-toed up the stairs.

“I’m a detective.” she retorted.

Robin’s room was pink, which was kind of a shock to Cormoran. It exuded a level of girlishness he wouldn’t associate with her at all. The pink walls were bare, as was the pink-painted vanity in one corner. It looked neat but empty, like its inhabitant was moving in or moving out.

“I know,” Robin said, sitting on her bed and looking around her own room. “I was a pink sort of girl as a teenager.” she said half-apologetically. “Didn’t want dad to change it again when I grew out of it. I did pay Martin to paint it something else for me a few years back and he never did it, the little shit.”

Cormoran smiled, sitting next to Robin. Her bed squeaked at the weight of him.

Robin lost no time lifting herself to straddle him, cupping his face for a kiss as Cormoran’s large hands roamed all over her back. _Effin finally_ , he thought, fingers automatically groping for a bra clasp and moaned with the realisation that she didn’t have one on. He shifted his large hand to her front, still under her shirt, enjoying how his hand was finally on a tit.

Robin’s intensity was getting him going, hands squishing his face as she kissed him hard. They parted, only for her to chuck her shirt off and Cormoran was momentarily mesmerised by bare breasts as though he hadn’t seen any, ever. How his mouth craved for one (or both) but Robin seemed insistent to preoccupy his mouth.

Robin, in a fit of boldness pushed Cormoran to lay on his back and her bed gave a great creak that made them both stop moving.

It’s never made that much noise when Matthew slept over, Robin thought, unable to help herself. But then it also occurred to her that she’s never had sex on this bed. Or in this house, for that matter. There were always far too many people in the house. Far too many brothers. And Matt’s house was just the next street over…

She tried to settle better on top of him, and even that made the bed squeak. She made a few tentative jerks that made Cormoran go, “Robin!” because she was already astride over his crotch and her perfect breasts bounced with her motions. But the bed made ominous rhythmic sounds that definitely didn’t sound very PG.

She knew her headboard was against the same thin wall as Stephen’s headboard which she never thought twice about but now supposed might’ve been a deliberate design choice by her parents.

She was well acquainted with how thin that particular wall was, with Annabel’s colic wails so loud and clear last year, it sounded as though her niece was screaming directly in her ear.

Cormoran sat back up again and the creaking of her damn bed sounded like nails to chalkboard grating against the absolute silence of the night.

“You could put music on,” Cormoran suggested, kissing her neck.

She sniggered. “Might as well put out a sign on the door saying ‘sex in progress’.” She sighed and let him do more of that for a bit longer. _God that feels nice._

“Better than them hearing actual sounds of it, I reckon.” Cormoran argued sensibly.

He kissed her, and she was starting to feel a tingle that makes her hips move quite apart from the rest of her body.

 _God_ she loved his arms, thick and firm enveloping her torso so securely. She’d known Cormoran for years and have gotten used to the breadth of him. But _now_! She even liked how hairy he was. Like she finally got herself a _man_.

Cormoran took a breast in his mouth the sound Robin made seemed to travel straight to his cock. He kissed up her chest, clavicle, jaw, face, lips, before lifting his great arms to reach over his shoulder and pull of his own shirt. She couldn’t help herself for letting out a great breath as though trying to calm herself from being overwhelmed at the sheer size of him.

She raked fingers over his hairy torso, Cormoran wondering mildly if this was a thing with her, hairiness. He seemed to remember her enjoying his swath of wolfish hair the first time they did this.

“On the bed.” he instructed, and she smiled and hopped off him, laying herself back down her leafy comforter. She looked almost laid on a pile of fallen leaves, he thought. Like a nymph his minotaurian self encountered in the woods.

The leg took awhile, Robin stretching impatiently on her bed, feet tracing along his backside to make him twitch. Cormoran wondered how far she gets with feet and chuckled as he finally pulled his stump free, heaving his great behind off the mattress long enough to pull his pyjama bottoms off his arse.

Robin’s bed squeaked in protest, and then a few more tiny squeaks as he crawled to hover finally above her looking down her body, sexy in just knickers and she giggles breathily, hands outstretched to rake into his chest again. He bends for a kiss and her traitorous bed might as well be clanging cymbals alerting the home of the daughter’s intruder.

It creaks even as he pulls up and Robin rolls her eyes impatiently pulling off her own bottoms and making grab for the strip of condoms she’d chucked on her nightstand. She threw one against his chest, and he makes fumbling work of it like a novice because Robin had her hands between her legs.

“What’s taking so long?” she whined, hips rocking as she touched herself impatiently, eyes on Cormoran’s hands around his own girth, surprised at herself that she found the sight of him holding his dick like that was getting her very worked up. She didn’t care much for penises, she thought as Cormoran finally positioned himself, but she does like it when it _oh—!_

Every little damn move he made, her blast bed squeaked with alarm. He looked around the room, eyes falling on the empty vanity. Back to Robin whose facial expression was an eloquent ‘Not a chance.’

He shrugged, face to her again, making good effort, going for more of a grind than anything else, and god it feels good because anything with Robin feels good, but anything more rigorous than mild rocking sets the creaking off. This was not ideal, and however close Cormoran thought he had been even at just the prospect of finally having sex, he knew he wasn’t going to get very far tonight.

“We could do other things.” suggested Robin who could literally feel Cormoran losing steam. They looked at each other, Cormoran rock hard again, excited and intrigued over these ‘other things’ of which she spoke.

“Yeah?” Cormoran looked so eager Robin didn’t need to be a detective to know what he had in mind. She laughed, patting his hip so he’d move off her. He pulled out laid beside her and of course even that made her goddamn bed squeak.

She laid against him, looking around her room, hating it now for its determination to be sexless even when its inhabitant is finally with someone she very much wanted to have sex with. There was nowhere else… _The floor?_ she wondered idly. _Are we floor sex people?_

She made a face. _Ew, no_.

Her fingers were trailing idly on Cormoran’s body, enjoying how different it was from what she was used to. She even liked how his tummy domed. She wanted to pinch it but thought better of it, remembering her ex-husband’s immediate agitation when she even teased at a mild imperfection.

Cormoran was about to suggest for Robin to lie back. Maybe she wanted to go first, but he let out a bleat of pleasure and surprise as she finally wrapped her hands around him. They seemed to be getting somewhere, finally, until they both heard the babyish gargles of Annabel so clear she might as well be in the room with them.

They heard Stephen try to rouse Jenny who whined that she’d pumped before bed and for her husband to _please go look_ and Cormoran knew that would be the end of it for either of them tonight.

Robin laughed as her hands hands flew off him, cupping his face instead and pressing it to her for a kiss on the cheek. Cormoran chuckled, too. Obviously he had a preference for actual sex, but sleeping naked with Robin in his arms is a damn fine consolation.


	23. Chapter 23

_Things don’t work out_   
_like you planned._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Robin knew Linda was unhappy with her even before she and Cormoran went down for breakfast. Her mother, ever the early riser, would’ve seen her new pull-out in couch form, with its occupant clearly having sought accommodations in her only daughter’s bedroom. But she didn’t realise the extent of Linda’s displeasure until her mother, unable to help herself, told Cormoran, “No, you’ve done enough.” when he tried to take over washing the dishes.

Her mother tried to backtrack, clarifying that Cormoran had set the table earlier, and encouraged Robin walk him around the neighbourhood instead. Martin, showing surprising tact, invited Cormoran for that walk, with the rest of the family clearing out save for Robin who was mildly angry at her mother’s rudeness of her guest, but also understanding that she could’ve handled the introduction of Cormoran The Boyfriend a lot better.

“Mum,” she started. “You do know I’m thirty, right?”

“I’m well aware how old you are, darling.” said her mother, back to her, wiping dry dishes she’d already wiped.

“And that I’m divorced?”

“Yes, dear. I’m well aware of that, too.” her mother sighed.

“And that I’ve had sex before?”

“Oh, Robin! Honestly!” her mother snapped, agitated. This sort of shock and awe is something they were used to from Martin.

“Why don’t you like him, mum?” Robin asked, plain and a little surprised that she felt a lump in her throat just asking. She was starting to realise this passive-agression was painful for her, not annoying or exasperating. Hurtful.

Robin saw her mother’s shoulders fall and finally turned around to face her. “It’s not that I don’t like him.” she said.

“Really? Because you were quite rude to him just now.”

Linda took a deep sigh. “Robin, you like your job, I get it. But he talked you into going into business with him and now he’s talked you into—”

“ _Talked_ me into—mum!” said Robin, swelling with indignation. “I wasn’t talked into anything! It’s my idea! All of it! Staying after that temping contract ended! Asking him for partnership paperwork! I was even the one who made the first move!”

“What was that, at your wedding?” her mother slung back. “Was that also your idea, him barging—!”

“Yes!” Robin felt like laughing. “Mum, I’d been miserable. You know I had—”

“Because he sacked you!”

“Because I _lost_ him mum.” said Robin, taking even herself aback at the realisation. “I was miserable because I thought I lost him.”

“What has he—!” Linda exclaimed, wide-eyed.

“Nothing!” Robin interrupted. “He hasn’t done…” Robin shook her head.

“If this doesn’t work out, where does that leave you then?” Linda asked, looking angry as though trying to impress something upon Robin she couldn’t yet see.

Robin slumped back on her chair, feeling petulant and resolute. “I’d start my own agency.”

Her mother snorted, which Robin thought was the meanest thing her mother has ever done to her.

“Scotland Yard wants me.” said Robin. This was true, but never something she was going to do. But it got her mother’s attention. She looked worried. “If I lose the agency, I’ll just go be a cop.”

She didn’t mean it as a threat, but this conversation had derailed so terribly she just might do it to spite her mother.

“When you become a m—”

“I’m never going to be anyone’s mother.” said Robin. She knew she sounded like she was lashing out and her mother looked stricken, but she meant it.

Linda blew past it. Robin knew that’s going to be another huge fight. “You don’t know the worry it puts—”

“The worst thing that happened in my life happened walking around my own university.”

Silence.

“Does it even matter to you mum, that I’m happy?” she asked, looking at her mother who was still leaning against the kitchen counter, looking out the window. Her face was flushed and Robin could tell she was on the verge of tears. She herself had wiped an angry tear off her cheek.

It wasn’t Cormoran that she disapproved of, Robin knew that now. Cormoran was just a convenient scape goat. What Linda really disapproved of, was her.

Robin shook her head. “I would’ve stayed with Matt ten, twenty years? We would’ve had kids. They would’ve been impeccable. You would’ve been proud of me. But I would’ve been miserable, mum. That life would’ve been Robin The Raped.”

Linda looked at her then, and she thought she saw the terror and sadness she saw in her mother’s face the first time she saw her after it happened. That longing in Linda that was stronger than even in Robin’s, that this awful thing hadn’t touched her. That it was somehow not real, somehow not her daughter.

But unlike her mother, her family, every one else she knew (perhaps other than Cormoran), she’d been robbed the luxury of comfortable lies. The horror she’d endured was too great for wilful ignorance. To cope had been to face it head-on.

“I don’t understand you, Robin.” her mother said, voice choked. “This isn’t you—”

Robin huffed, shaking her head, and walked out of the kitchen.

Masham was a small, churchy town. The sort where everyone belonged in the same parish and went to the same Sunday morning service. It was also the sort of small town where news of death and marriage and births spread as though there was a town crier announcing these facts nightly. But somehow it missed the Ellacott’s notice that the new Mr. and Mrs. Cunliffe were visiting the same weekend Robin was, brand new baby in tow.

“I tried texting!” Jenny said, heading them off at the church doors, looking distressed.

“Our phones are charging in the house,” said Robin casting one swift glance at the happy family all in matching soft blue outfits, Matthew holding his new infant aloft, showing it off to the vicar. Robin deduced the baby would be a boy. She didn’t know why or how it would be possible, but Sarah seemed the sort of person who would take Matthew’s last name, and guarantee him a first-born son.

 _Great, just what I need_ , Robin lamented, still feeling the anxiety of her fight with her mother.

As though her gaze willed Matthew’s attention, his eyes fell to her and the genuine jubilation he may have had showing off his child to the vicar was snuffed out like a candle upon sight of her and Cormoran.

A part of her—that part that felt very much like somebody’s ex-wife—felt smug to be ruining this moment for Matthew. And then she just felt incensed because Sarah had spotted them now, too, and gave her a disgusted look as though Robin had no shame brandishing her relationship about. As though she was the deplorable, illicit one of the three of them.

She tried not to think ill of Sarah. It isn’t very feminist of her to blame the woman when Matthew’s dick had a significant role to play in this mess. But god the audacity of her! This bitch who was looking at her now as though she’d won, as though Robin were gum in the red soles of her Louboutins!

“It’s alright love,” said Robin’s dad, taking her hand in his arm and pulling her into the church. “It gets easier with time.”

Robin made a face at her father, poster child for long-lasting marriage, assuring her seeing her ex-husband out and about with his new family will get easier with time. He laughed at the look on her face, but said no more.

They took their seats, Cormoran in the pew behind her. She could just see a hint of Sarah’s fascinator from the corner of her eye.

She didn’t know why, but she wondered what they named the baby. She and Matthew talked names before. They both quite liked Charlie, regardless of gender. And then she remembered how if she and Matt had a daughter, she’d have likely named it Charlotte. Sarah’s child wouldn’t be called Charlie. It would be called some insufferable posh name like Fabian, Laurent, or Xavier.

She tried to concentrate on the proceedings. Except she was suddenly reminded that she had married Matthew here. In this very church. With the stone crab at the side of the altar. With half the parish here now being witness as she had said ‘I do’, while looking at another man, granted, but she had said ‘I do’ to marrying Matt nonetheless.

“Need…” she said half-heartedly to both her father and Cormoran who looked up at her suddenly standing and then she walked briskly out of the church.


	24. Chapter 24

_I don't give a care_   
_about the past_   
_anymore_

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

The air was helping. She didn’t really think she was about to have a panic attack, but she felt constricted inside, as though pressed on all corners. Her father on her left, hint of Sarah Cunliffe on her right, the altar in front of her, Cormoran behind. Too much.

“Really?”

Robin whipped round. Matthew looked livid and in utter disbelief as though she had done something, yet again, for the purposes of causing him public shame.

“Showing up here—!”

Robin swelled with anger at a loss for words. The nerve of this arsehole to make her feel as though she’d overstepped, she’d done something offensive, that she had no right.

“What!” she snapped back. “What did I do?”

He smirked mirthlessly and Robin wondered how she could’ve ever thought him handsome.

He shook his head at her.

She wished she wasn’t alone, desperate for some other face that would signal to her that she wasn’t going completely crazy. That there was no context where Matthew Cunliffe, who knocked up and married his mistress, had the actual upper hand in this scenario.

“Not enough making sure the tabloids have you pictured all over him? Needed to bring him here to rub it in my face?”

It was Robin’s turn to laugh. “Nothing I do is about you, Matthew!”

“No, you made that abundantly clear even when we were married.”

“Oh, don’t you dare—!” Robin protested, so indignant nearly at a loss for words. “You were the one—!”

“Jesus, Robin!” Matthew exclaimed, as though similarly rendered speechless. “Do you think I’m that stupid? God, you really…”

“I’m leaving, Matt.”

He chuckled again. “If you only did that sooner.” he muttered.

“What?”

He looked at her and then away from her. “We were fuckin’ over the moment he blundered into the ceremony, Robin.” He couldn’t seem to stop shaking his head. “I’m fucking sick of letting you and everybody think it was all me.”

“I never touched—!”

There he went, that irritating, mirthless laugh. “Did you honestly think you could leave me in the middle of a first dance and I wouldn’t chase after you?”

Robin froze. “What?” she asked, stunned.

“Half the bloody people in our wedding—in this church right now—saw you leave me and run to him!” and then as though regret seemed to wash over him, “God why did I…”

“Why didn’t you leave me, then? Why didn’t you just—”

“Because I loved you!” Matthew yelled in utter frustration. “Jesus Christ! You’re asking me why I stayed married? Jesus! I loved you Robin! Mother—!” he took a deep breath, trying to collect himself.

A tense silence seemed to stretch between them. Then he continued, calmer now. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be married to someone who doesn’t love you back?”

Robin looked stonily at Matthew’s face, his eyes burning with unshed tears. She didn’t want to think it, but she could tell this was genuine pain. And a flicker of satisfaction akin to realising Matthew had tipped his hand ebbed within her. He was unhappy. Marrying a woman who’d bend over backwards for him, fathering an impeccable son, and he was the unhappy one.

It wasn’t ego that made her think her ex-husband loved her still. It was plain fact, deduction made from empirical evidence of his face and his anger and knowing him for most of their lives. Robin wondered when he realised it, that he had settled, that Sarah Shadlock had successfully trapped him.

This is why he’s lashing out, Robin mused, because he can’t allow Robin to be happy if he isn’t. _But I am, Matt,_ she longed to say. _I’m the happiest I’ve ever been._

She hoped to god they hadn’t married at all, that she didn’t let it go that far.

He swallowed, eyes narrowing, finally finding the most cutting final word. “Whatever it is that killed us, Robin, you started it.”

Cormoran was no longer any good at running, but he had lightning reflexes. About to head after Robin, he’d spotted Martin heading towards where Matthew Cunliffe was, clearly intending for great tackle with a running start. It was an easier sprint to head Martin off, and he caught him by the arm about three feet away from his target. Except Martin was still lunging forwards and Matthew, too, was quick to the draw, because he had thrown a punch that landed on Martin’s cheek before recoiling, clearly equally hurt by the impact.

Martin seemed ready to retaliate, but Cormoran had an iron grip on his punching arm. Michael Ellacott arrived, as did Matthew’s father, stepping between the brawl to keep it from progressing.

Michael sighed, placating and professorial of the two.

“It’s been a hard couple of years for the kids, Geoffrey.” he had said. “How about you let me take my boys, you take yours, and we call it even?”

Robin was shaking as she arrived back in the house, breathing heavily and trying to process what Matthew had said and the fact that Cormoran hadn’t run after her.

“Robin!” Stephen boomed from the study. Annabel started crying, possibly startled by her own dad’s voice. “Robin! Have you heard—what’s wrong?” he said upon sight of her face.

She was still breathing heavily, perhaps in the grips of a panic attack. She tried to concentrate. Five things you can see, four things you can hear…

“Robin. Robin!” Stephen was trying to tell her something. “You should see this!”

He was trying to hand her his cellphone and she just held it when the front doors blasted open and they both heard their father’s thin, sharp, and scathing voice. “Disgraceful!”

Their father rarely got angry, but when he did, it instilled a terror in the Ellacott siblings that meant long stretches of grounding and sheer devastation that they’d disappointed their otherwise mild-mannered, kind-hearted father. Both Robin and Stephen were over thirty. Stephen was huge and married and with his own child, but the two of them looked at each other wide-eyed as though bracing for the world’s most terrifying telling-off.

“What did you do?” Stephen mouthed.

“Sit!” her father barked in that same terrifying whisper. Robin turned around, but Michael wasn’t talking to her at all, but Martin who was holding his cheek as though he had a tooth ache.

“Martin!” she exclaimed, Martin’s cheek darkening. Her father looked so livid, her mother was imploring her husband to consider his heart.

“Brawling! In a church!” Michael kept, in that same thin and sharp and curt tone that would be less frightening if he was shouting at the top of his lungs. Martin’s face was impassive.

Brawling. _Shit_. Cormoran and Jenny were in the doorway by the front door, as though afraid of entering.

Linda finally got Michael to head to the study to cool off and Martin flew off bumping against everyone, likely to blow off his own steam at the pub. Jonathan followed suit.

Jenny filled Robin and Stephen in on the aftermath of Robin leaving, how Martin tried to run at Matthew, how Cormoran caught him before he reached Matt, how Matt threw a punch, how Michael and Geoffrey stopped it from escalating even more.

“Jesus.” Robin fell on the couch. “I should talk to Mart.”

“Er,” said Stephen. “I think you two have other things to worry about.”

This time, Stephen handed his phone to Cormoran who blinked at it twice before yelling “Shit!” and bounding for her bedroom upstairs.

“Wha—!” said Robin surprised, grabbing for Stephen’s phone now, too.

“Holy shit!”


	25. Chapter 25

_You’re gonna get us_   
_both in trouble_

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

For the second time that weekend Robin was once again talking Cormoran out of firing one of their people.

“He’s our best one!” she argued. Cormoran himself thought Andy might be their best one, really, but they also have to make provisions for his health which the agency is more than happy to do, but objectively, realistically, he supposed being young and fit does tip the scales in Sam’s favor.

“You would’ve done the same thing.” Robin attempted.

“I,” Cormoran started, indignant. “Would’ve bloody waited until I knew what I was looking for before I went barging in! _I_ —”

Cormoran knew he was sounding like a pompous arsehole but he couldn’t help himself. This was a bad call from Barclay, something Cormoran suspected their subcontractor wouldn’t do if he knew Strike was in town. “would’ve made sure Michelle wasn’t by herself if I wanted someone keeping an eye on a psycho who kidnaps women!”

Cormoran knew Robin’s thought process was that those poor women the Old Man trapped in that bunker shouldn’t be made to wait until they had all the pieces in place, but Cormoran’s work with the SIB also made him—not a stickler, per se—appreciate proper process and processing. Following the letter of the law if he could help it. Being as sure and as certain as he possibly could. He knew what could happen if protocols are ignored even in the name of good values and ethics. It lets criminals go free.

As Cormoran saw it, both Robin and Sam had very high senses of right and wrong. Brockbank living with children is wrong, army officers corrupting government funds is wrong, but both treated both scenarios with recklessness Cormoran attributed to heroes in storybooks, not real-life employed detectives with daily jobs.

At least Barclay’s recklessness hadn’t caused the Old Man to flee. Cormoran would’ve definitely sacked him had that happened (and he doubted he’d make flights to Scotland for the ex-Rifleman to take him back). Michelle, who finally showed some good copper sense, made sure the Old Man was in her sights as Sam pursued what had been a wild hunch to the end.

Sam and Michelle, they now found out, had been collaborating (Robin’s word, Cormoran thought they were more ‘colluding’) over the mystery of the Old Man’s nightly, inexplicable trips to his Kensington estate.

They found out through property logs that the Old Man did own the Kensington flat, but they also found that the 24-year-old wife’s 45-year-old mother owned the house right next to it. One photo of the mother and Sam deduced the Old Man was actually having an affair with the mother-in-law. His actual theory was that there must be a dumbwaiter adjoining the two houses, even though the estate next door had been empty every time they tailed the Old Man to his Kensington flat.

Michelle wanted to watch the mother-in-law, which was the most prudent approach, but Sam—possibly now enamoured with bizarre solves as what has been happening to the agency of late—wanted to check if there was something adjoining the two houses.

He was only really looking around both premises and the breaking and entering happened when he finally heard sounds coming from the Kensington flat. Being the “bloody effin hero” he was (Cormoran’s grumpy words), that’s when he broke in to see for himself where the sounds were coming from. He saw a hatch beneath a haphazardly placed laundry machine down the basement and found the bunker where the Old Man was keeping two terrified women. He helped them out and called 999 to make an anonymous tip.

Sam then left the Kensington flat to assist Michelle and make sure the Old Man wouldn’t get away if it all went down. He was lucky the witnesses stayed put because they could’ve just left and the cops would’ve only found a house broken into and a basement hatch left open.

But Sam and Michelle were still on surveillance and saw that Scotland Yard was able to pick up the Old Man with no fuss. Sam thought he’d gotten away with the anonymous tip, except apparently Culpepper had Patterson tailing the agency in search of Cormoran and Robin after they attended Al and Ciara’s wedding as a couple. Patterson wasn’t totally useless and photographed Sam milling around the estate before the cops got there to check his tip-off.

Cormoran, who knew Culpepper could afford to pay handsomely for a scoop, supposed Patterson weighed getting paid against inadvertently giving a competitor free press. The kidnapped women’s saving had been news the previous night (which Robin and Cormoran missed), but the Daily Mail broke that it was another Strike Detective Agency solve that morning.

That had been the news Stephen showed them earlier that afternoon.

They found the whole story out from Barclay, who Robin talked to, and Ilsa, who Cormoran sent to make sure Barclay wouldn’t get thrown in jail. But Sam was in no real legal harm, because when the young Mrs. Van Der Pol found out that it had been the agency she hired that exposed her husband’s creepiness, she was quick to insist it had been her idea, that Sam was there under her instruction, that she suspected all along her husband was a creep, and that she thought something like this might be happening, and that Sam didn’t have a key because she shrewdly thought that would tip her husband off.

(Mrs. Van Der Pol was also angling for a reality tv deal.)

So, they really ought to fire Sam. He was lucky to have gotten so lucky. Cormoran had no space for a Hardy Boy-wannabe. Except he also definitely walked back on sacking Robin after everything fell into place anyway with the Brockbank case. But he also isn’t secretly in love with Barclay, was he?

What kind of boss is he that his subcontractors think they can do whatever they pleased?

“Shit!” Robin exclaimed so loudly, Cormoran hit the breaks on the Land Rover. He threw his harm out to keep her from lurching into the dashboard. “Conk’s sacked us!”

Cormoran pulled over and took Robin’s phone.

> **Found my shit, nitwits. What did I pay you for if I found them myself?**

He attached a photo of what looked to be attic space and a pile of the list of items their client had said were looted.

Cormoran suspected the staff had only been moving his things so they can shoot their pornos without the house being detected, but moot point now.

“We’ve only got one case!” Robin sounded panicked.

“We haven’t got any cases.” said Cormoran more relaxed than he felt. He drew out his own phone and showed Robin a text message he got from Gaspard Croft yesterday morning.

> **Mr. Strike, while I understand that the first few weeks are likely preliminary work and the lacklustre results I’ve thus been receiving are mere due diligence, I cannot reconcile your agency’s premium rates with the reports you have been sending. I suspect a top agency like yours may be otherwise engaged, but as this is also of import to me, I cannot work with a company that does not seem to value the business I provide as much as I value the service I procured. I request that the advance I paid be promptly refunded, though I understand you would need to take a cancellation fee. Best, Croft**

“He’s polite.” Robin joked though no humor in her tone. “We’ve got no cases.”

“No cases.”

“No one else on the waiting list?” Robin asked, though she knew the answer.

Cormoran shook his head.

Robin wished Cormoran would pull over, finding it ridiculous he was risking buggering his leg and driving her old car when they don’t even have work waiting for them in London. She didn’t want another row. There’s far too many things to worry about.

She supposed they’d get cases soon. Sam’s solve plus the continued popularity of the Bamborough case will give the agency an advertising boost. But knowing there was no caseload tomorrow for the both of them or the people depending on them for livelihood was making her sick to her stomach. She felt very bad now, asking Cormoran to hold off taking a full workload after they wrapped up the two she finished early last week. She felt foolish requesting that because she wanted to, what? Spend time with her boyfriend?

God, she’s an idiot.

She swallowed the lump in her throat at the shame of her unprofessionalism, inwardly vowing that she will never again take for granted when the agency is busy. She got out of a marriage precisely because she wanted this to come first.

It has to come first.

Even over...

She looked at Cormoran who seemed to be thinking deeply. If driving her car is currently causing him pain, he doesn’t look it. She wondered what he was thinking, remembering how weary and worried he had been when he told her about how hard it was to first start up the business.

If they hadn’t gotten together, she wouldn’t have insisted on a reduced work load. They wouldn’t have been photographed together at Al’s wedding. She would’ve been working the Buzz case, instead of being inside with the Rokebys. Culpepper wouldn’t have had reason to be tailing the agency for tabloid fodder. Cormoran would’ve been in London this weekend. Sam and Michelle wouldn’t have had to fend for themselves. Cormoran would’ve been able to work with Sam, work on Croft, work on Ormston.

She made the first move. She asked him to come home with her on her birthday. She’d been the one sending flirty text messages. She was the one who kissed him first.

“We’ll be fine.” said Cormoran out of nowhere, taking a turn and Robin realised they were pulling up a Travelodge. “We’ll be just fine.”


	26. Chapter 26

_So we got a six-pack  
_ _and broke into the chapel,  
_ _stayed up all night  
_ _talking and kissing_

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

There was an almost _Thelma & Louise_ quality to Cormoran and Robin laying against each other on a bed, naked under the covers, watching an episode of _Doctor Who_ on a Sunday night in a Travelodge in Leicester.

Right now, at that moment, they had no cases.

Worry came to Cormoran in waves since finding out Conk sacked them earlier that day. He felt responsible for the people who have thrown their lot in with him. The feast and famine of his line of work had been awful in the early days, but at least it was only himself he worried about. And even then, much as he denied it, there had been Charlotte’s flat and Charlotte’s well-stocked fridge and Charlotte’s arresting company to stave off the feeling of utter failure.

His worry now didn’t carry the same depression it did back then. He knew there could be clients as soon as tomorrow. There were even options open to him that he could look into. But it was a dose of reality nevertheless to be reminded that there were no guarantees. That not even career achievements he never dreamed of achieving will give him the sort of pecuniary ease other people with other (less detective-y) jobs had.

And of course there was Robin, now in his arms in a way he never thought she’d ever be. He felt that male, gendered need to be a provider. In an almost traditional sense because any money she makes comes from their business. Their business that currently has no active clients.

“I saw her at the wedding,” said Robin, hand clutching his hairy arm draped over her chest.

“The Cyberman?” Cormoran asked.

She turned her head up to smile at him. “You know what those are?” she asked, surprised.

Cormoran laughed. “Nothing else on the telly in the eighties.”

Robin considered this, as though she found it surprising that Cormoran did something as normal as watch _Doctor Who_.

He kissed her temple. She smiled.

“I meant that girl. The companion.”

Cormoran sighed into her hair. “I’m sure she was.”

This is nice, Cormoran thought. It’s almost normal to be holding a beautiful woman against him like this; normal to have the soft, sleepy intimacy of a Sunday night that had always been so rare for him.

He felt Robin kiss his bicep, felt her settle more comfortably against him.

“Tell me something,” he urged her and he felt the lift of her cheek as she smiled against his arm.

“What do you want to know?” Robin asked.

“Anything.” he said. He meant everything. He wanted to know everything.

“I was a twin.” said Robin.

“What?” Cormoran asked, surprised. Robin laughed at the sudden jolt of his belly against her back.

“Yeah.”

“What, you absorbed him in the womb?”

Robin sighed. “No, we were born and then he died soon after.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hm. Don’t really know much about it. Mum and dad never mention it.”

Cormoran supposed all families had little surprising secrets like that.

“You tell me something.” she said, eyes still on the tv.

Cormoran thought for awhile. There was a lot, he was sure, but nothing was coming to mind. And then,

“I play the piano.” he said.

“No you don’t!” Robin said, with the same look of surprise she gave him when she found out he knew what Cybermen were.

“Yeah.” said Cormoran earnestly. “Leda made sure her children were musical. Lucy can sing.”

“But the piano?” Robin asked, still disbelieving.

Cormoran chuckled. “Leda wanted me to take up the guitar, the piano had been a compromise.” The true story was that he had been desperate for a guitar as a child, seeing the countless photos of his father with one on stage. But after the incident at his recording studio, he wanted nothing to do with music. It was Joan who taught him the piano, and his mother and her aunt had gotten along so well asking about his progress that he kept at it to try and forge a friendship between them.

She lifted his large hand and he splayed it for her to inspect.

“They weren’t that fat when I was eight.”

Robin laughed.

“I can prove it.” said Cormoran. Robin looked up at him again, unsure, and then he playfully pretended to play a keyboard on her chest. She shrieked, laughing, tickled.

They watched for a stretch, the television making no sounds, the Doctor exploding a few Cybermen approaching with the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral in the background. Cormoran’s piano-playing fingers ghosting over Robin’s bare skin under the covers. She twitched when he ran his fingertips along her sides, arching and sighing as he ran them along her thighs.

“Spread them for me,” he whispered and Robin felt the excitement pooling low in her body at his words. She wondered how skilled he was at that, _words_.

He feels her legs spread under the white sheet like he asked, letting out a soft moan as he begins again to touch her. Cormoran likes knowing this about Robin now, too, that she likes it best when fingers come into play, that her neck and cheeks burn red when she’s aroused, that her body seems to gyrate at his lightest of touches, and how the smell of Narciso blends with the smell of her sweat and the scent of her arousal.

He kisses her temple, looking down at the bed that showed his eyes the sensual movement of her torso beneath the sheet. Her chest reflecting the light of the television they weren’t watching.

Her sounds are all breaths and sighs as though she was getting a particularly good massage and he grins when her pitch goes high and she’s suddenly clasping his hand to keep doing what he’s doing and clutching his thigh as though afraid she’ll fly off the bed at his ministrations.

Cormoran suddenly stops and Robin deflates in his arms with loud sobs against his neck. He smirks, smug. He was skilled at this particular art, though he tried not to think of the woman who taught him (Charlotte). He resumes before she could complain and she’s finally moaning and whimpering along with the obscene sounds of wet skin against skin. He’s tempted to kick off the sheet over them, to see how she’s coming undone, but he thought it was infinitely more erotic to watch how the sheet moved with her, with the rhythm his hands had going between her legs.

He toys with the idea of prolonging her sweet torture, but she whines now finally against his jaw, eeking out a breathy, “Cormoran, please.”

He grins, smug again, fingers working at speed. Her gasps are shaky now, hips jerking against his palm. _God, she’s so sexy,_ he thinks, enjoying exploring her like this, getting to know her like this. His partner, his best mate, his Robin.

“That’s it,” he whispers, voice gruff and low and quiet as she crests. “That’s it, good girl.”

The bright light of the telly woke Robin from her short slumber, and she was pleased to feel the weight of Cormoran’s arm on her side and how his large, rough palm rested over her hand as though he fell asleep holding it.

She entwined their fingers, pulling their hands towards her to kiss. His arm was so thick and firm, it was like a bolster. She kissed the back of his hand again. And one more time with an excited sense of finally having something she wanted.

The darkness put thoughts of Masham back in her mind. Of the stinging argument with her mother, the final, filthy aspersions her ex-husband hurled her way. And then as though her mind associated bad things with more bad things, she remembered again with an unpleasant jolt that there was no work waiting for them in London.

“Cormoran?” she whispered, just in case he was actually already asleep. She felt him kiss her shoulder by way of answer. She didn’t have anything to say, really. But her heart lept at his affection, reminding her that whatever trouble she caused, having this, being in his arms, was a worthy trade-off.

A glint of emerald from the corner of her eyes and her attention was drawn back to the television screen. She saw a photo of her and Cormoran with the rest of Jonny Rokeby’s other children on the news. Robin was curious, but didn’t want to wake Cormoran. She thought she could deduce what was being said judging from how the photo display next to the newsreader changed.

The both of them with Cormoran’s siblings and their famous partners, seated on that little sectioned booth by the side of the large venue. She thought she could remember precisely when that photo was taken, because she had a surprised look on her face and Cormoran was scowling. The rest of the group looked well-poised and ready, perhaps from a lifetime of being photographed with a split-second notice. At least they hadn’t used one with Cormoran’s face crumbed with pork rinds.

A photo of Al and Ciara Porter joined the group in a little collage. They seem to be posing on a red carpet, holding hands, looking thrilled to be in each other’s company. Al was hairy like Cormoran, though shorter than tall Ciara even in low heels. Olive complexion unlike the rest of the family. But none of Rokeby’s children looked alike. Rokeby must not have very dominant genes, Robin thought. In her own family, all of them favoured their mother’s side.

And then a smaller, circular photo of Jonny Rokeby with his wife, Jenny Graham popped up a little beneath the newlyweds. Jenny Graham was very beautiful, with the look of a slightly older Elizabeth Hurley about her, wearing a deep, glittering wrap-around dress and looked like an Oscar in the arms of her husband who smiled wide for the camera. Jonny Rokeby didn’t look too bad, Robin thought, not really sure how to describe him. She supposed he looked 66, but his skin was clear and smooth and his gray hair and beard suited him. Like he’d spent his life quite fit, and now the years are starting to catch up to him. Very different from photos of him in tight leathers, with long curls, screaming into microphones and kept lean perhaps by coke or heroin.

Then the photo with Rokeby’s children zoomed to focus on her and Cormoran now, next to it a photo of Margot Bamborough, and then a smaller photo of two Asian women below it, posing in front of Buckingham Palace. They were the women Sam had saved from Old Man’s clutches. And then the photos changed. Cormoran trailing behind long-haired Charlotte Campbell, stunning and once again in all-black as she tried to walk past photographers who seemed to have caught them stepping out of a beautiful house.

Robin felt a surge in her limbs, as though she’d been shown something gruesome without her consent. The photo shifts, now joined by a black and white photo of Leda chest practically exposed, wearing nothing but a blazer covering her breasts. And then the picture turns black. Cormoran shut off the telly, and the room has finally gone dark.


	27. Chapter 27

_Then real life takes over  
_ _because it always does—_

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Robin enjoyed Cormoran’s amorous overtures, kissing at her cheek and neck, a bit laboriously hovering over her the moment he woke up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, digging her fingers into his short hair that was softer than they looked.

“Morning,” he murmured into her clavicle, in a tone she’d been privy to only since they started dating. A wholly softer, sweeter cadence to his voice that Robin attributed to intimacy and tenderness.

“Good morning,” she repeated, smiling at his face and gently tracing the lines by his eyes.

He groaned again into her skin, and she could feel his large, rough palm over a breast. Sexual desire is so inextricable to her interest of a person for Robin, who could measure her sex drive depending on how much she wanted another person to be touching her. She rarely does it for herself, unless it was after having been left unsatisfied by Matthew after working her up, only to care mostly for his own gratification.

The lesser she liked Matt, the lesser she wanted any sort of sex, attributing it to other lists of chores that was part of her weekly rota. Do laundry. Cook dinner. Fuck Matthew.

When she left him, she fully realised how sad her personal life had been, and how not having any sex at all was infinitely preferable to consenting (relenting?) to sex because the only thing less palatable to her was the whiny husband who will sulk and then pick fights.

She tried not to think of Matthew, especially not when she’s got Cormoran’s mouth on a tit. It tickled more than anything, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Then she was reminded of babies, and then Sarah’s baby, and then that client they had with that weird fetish—

She gave a stuttered groan and he’s off her immediately, catching on. “Not good?” he asks concerned and she smiles and thinks again that she loves him.

“I don’t think—” she says, a little shy to tell him no, that if she had been in the mood, she’d just killed it.

But he says, “It’s okay.” then bends for a kiss. And she hugs him and kisses his shoulder and wished that there had never been Matthew or Charlotte (where had that come from?) and that there had only ever been Cormoran and her.

In the throes of finally some alone time and privacy yesterday, they thought about just giving the whole agency a day off. They fantasised about making the most out of the Travelodge and having all the sex they hadn’t been able to have in one fell swoop. But they weren’t the sort of people to blow off work, especially when it currently felt a little unstable. And so, at six in the morning, they were back on the road and heading towards London.

The pit in Robin’s stomach was mounting. She felt as though she left wreckage in her wake when she left Masham, Matthew’s accusations and her mother’s disapproval coating her skin with a thin sheen of anxiety. But the closer they got to London, the more her mind moved to more pressing concerns.

No clients. The rota is empty. There’s work for Pat, and she herself is the only other salaried employee. Andy, Sam, and Michelle were still billing them as freelancers. If there was no work for them, there was no pay for them. She remembered Sam’s daughter’s birthday is coming up. And it’s even nearly Christmas…

The accountant said a regular caseload of three clients at the agency’s standard rates (they were not cheap) could keep everyone working and paid. Cormoran’s percentage profits would take even more of a dip, and knowing him, he’s also probably rattled by still running out of clients even at the height of their agency’s good press so, he’d likely put all the money right back in again.

She didn’t know much about Cormoran’s personal expenses, but knew he lived lean. She could surmise the rent of his attic flat with how much it cost them to rent the office (not cheap). His fridge is almost always bare, he doesn’t shop for clothes, there seems to be a plethora of things for the leg but she’d never really pried before.

Her own financial situation, she realised, has never ever been bad. Not even when she first started working for Cormoran, or when she was doing odd jobs while Matt was at uni. She always had options, safety nets. Not like the rich and famous people of Al Rokeby’s world, but she somehow just felt a surety that her life will never be permitted to be any less comfortable than it was now. And it was quite a different thing to consider herself skint when she’s always had money to rent a flat (if tiny) and feed and clothe and transport herself in London, quite a different thing to have a salary that Matthew thought ‘embarrassing’, to now being responsible for the livelihood of herself, her partner, and the people who threw in their lot with them.

She actively stopped this line of thinking when she remembered Jonny Rokeby seemed open to give Cormoran money.

They need three clients. Maybe four. Yes, four. Four clients.

“I could ring Two-Times,” said Cormoran. “He’s bound to have a new girlfriend by now, sad bastard.”

“Okay.”

“There’s a chance I can talk Moneybags out of cancelling. He might be less pissed with us now after the weekend.”

Robin nodded. Possibly two clients. She took a deep breath. “Mrs. Levy—”

“There’d be nothing there.” said Cormoran. “We know there’s nothing there.”

“Two weeks of due diligence?” Robin asked half-hearted, feeling scummy.

Cormoran sighed. “We’re not _that_ desperate. And besides, I might have something.”

It slipped both Cormoran and Robin’s minds that Denmark Street will be riddled with photographers, and only realised when Michelle had texted Robin a photo of the thicket of people outside their door. But she had also messaged too late, and most of the agency was already in.

Cormoran, hopping out of the Land Rover before Robin could protest, said he’d just walk in ahead first and she could follow in a few minutes. She personally thought there was no point to that, but she supposed further confirmation of romance will only chum the waters.

She didn’t like having to squeeze through photographers in her face with their giant cameras and asking her inane, nosy questions and she was very cross now at the thought that her face is all over the papers and how the bloody hell is she going to go incognito with all this attention.

When she was finally inside the building and the noise of reporters outside was behind her, the chilling thought came to her like a violent wave: with her face in the press, would Luca Ricci finally realise she had been Vanessa Jones whom he found trying to interrogate his senile father?

Barclay arrived late and a little after Robin and looked as though he had been similarly harangued by the reporters downstairs. While not as widely-featured as Cormoran even in the high-profile case he solved, he had still been named and a photo of him had been shown in the news.

“Barclay,” Cormoran grumbled and Sam looked at him, immediately with an air of a young truant called now to meet with the headmaster. He headed for the inner office, Cormoran following soon after.

When he closed the door, Robin felt Andy’s eyes on her.

“Nutter’s in for it now.” rasped Pat, fingers already flying over her keyboard, e-cig on the side of her mouth. She sounded as though Robin not being in the meeting with Cormoran was because he’s about to execute the man. But he wasn’t even going to fire Sam. They had, in fact, agreed to offer Sam and Andy salary employment next year provided the agency doesn’t again experience this terrifying moment of zero active clients. But Cormoran nevertheless asked to speak with Barclay in private as they entered London, and despite some trepidation, she agreed.

The silence _was_ eerie, Robin thought. Some low sounds of conversation, but she was expecting bellowing.

“How was your parents’ anniversary?” Michelle asked, as though remembering she’d been planning to ask. “Masham, right?”

“Yeah. Great, thanks!” Robin offered politely, and then it occurred to her they now probably know about her and Cormoran. It had been in the news that they came together at Al’s swanky wedding.

“When did you and Cormoran drive back?” Michelle continued with an air of making idle chit-chat. They were still waiting for Cormoran and Sam to wrap up their conversation.

Pat’s fingers stilled over the keyboard, and she leaned back on her chair and stared at Robin, face looking as though she was about to take a dump. “You’re with him?”


	28. Chapter 28

_…you can’t help that.  
_ _We’re your sisters._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Cormoran didn’t feel too friendly towards his subcontractors, but nevertheless gave them all a generic “Good job last week.” when he dismissed them after the meeting. Michelle seemed thrilled. Sam was still scowling. Pat couldn’t care less, and Andy looked bewildered.

He was still glad to have them go away for now, telling them to just finish their paperwork and bill the agency for that like they usually do.

“They’re not gonna leave unless they see us leave.” said Robin, looking out the window into Denmark Street still full of photographers. She just watched Sam bodily wiggle through the throng. While some photographed him, none followed. The money shot was Cormoran. Possibly one with her, too. Gross.

“Heading out for a few hours.” he announced. “Let’s just meet in Notting Hill around 2.”

Robin looked at Cormoran, sensing his unfriendliness. It amazed her how well he could compartmentalise, talking to her again as though they didn’t wake up next to each other that morning. Far from feeling hurt by it, she actually felt envious. She wished she too were rock-like and matter-of-fact and unflappable and professional and robotic when things are up in the air.

“Okay,” she sighed, looking back out the window. Andy was walking out now, but somehow, the photographers parted for him. Robin was wondering idly how he did it when she felt Cormoran next to her.

When she turned to face him, he kissed her. “See you later.” he smiled.

She smiled back. “See you.” and watched him exit their office.

“That was friendly.”

Robin was feeling chipper. She’d managed to lure the photographers away from Denmark Street when she pretended to disappear into the packed walkway across Dominion Theatre mid-morning. She knew they’d be back, but at least the street was clear for now, which was lucky because when she returned after her little ruse, Two-Times was waiting to talk to a partner.

Two-Times has been so consistent, he’s now comfortable talking to just Robin now. He used to prefer to talk to Cormoran, even when told Robin was now a partner in the agency. Robin suspected Two-Times might even prefer her now over Strike, noticing that he’s a little less matter-of-fact and business-like when talking to Robin.

He talked about this new woman he was seeing who was smart and well-educated and a good match for him because she’s independently wealthy herself. He sounded almost bored this time, even when insisting that this new woman might be The One, and that the agency need to be extra careful because he can’t marry a cheating whore.

Robin has plenty of opinions on Two-Times’s bizarre and disgusting behavior, but right now she felt like she was able to compartmentalise her disgust and make him feel reasonably un-judged. He was surprised when she said he doesn’t need to be on the waiting list this time but Robin said some bollocks about the agency appreciating customer loyalty as to not reveal how badly they actually need his business.

“This is why I like talking to you,” said Two-Times, writing a check. “You know customer service." he handed her the amount. “Plus extra, get yourself something pretty.” then he winked as he exited the office.

Robin rolled her eyes, looking at the cheque and was surprised that he’d paid for the full month, plus a thousand pounds more which they’ll obviously have to return. He’s a shit and Robin half wished this new woman would end up being a cheater because no one should marry that prick.

No matter. That’s one case in the books. There’s something to divvy up for everyone, the business is saved!

She walked out and handed the cheque for Pat to mail to the accountant. And then, the the door opened. Feeling lucky, she had about a second to bet herself it was another client when, “Hi, Robin.”

She turned around. It was Gabriella. In an oversized gray poncho and sunglasses she hasn’t removed despite now being indoors. She tried hard not to look at Michelle who froze when she walked in, trying not to alert Gabriella to look her way.

Then Robin noticed that Gabriella was not alone. A little girl, similarly dressed to her peeked from behind her leg. She looked about three. It suddenly occurred to Robin how much their agency is not kid-friendly.

“Is that candy?” she asked timidly, pointing to a pumpkin bowl by Pat’s desk.

“Help yourself, sweetheart.” rasped Pat, not stopping her typing for anything.

The little girl giggled and tiptoed to dip her tiny hand in, grabbing a fistful that amounted to about four sweets.

“What do you say, Clara?” Gabriella prompted.

“Thank you.” said the little girl, wrapping her hand around Robin’s midsection.

“You’re welcome.” said Robin. “Shall we go inside?” Robin gestured for the inner office.

“Oh, okay.” she said. “Can I leave Clara here?” she asked, and then finally looked around the office, eyes landing on Michelle. Robin could only see Gabriella’s mouth but judging from her gape, it was of shock.

“Hi,” said Michelle easily, hand outstretched. Gabriella didn’t take it. “I think we met last Friday. I’m Robin’s assistant.”

Gabriella was instantly mollified, taking the proffered hand. “Okay.” she said, and then turning back to Robin, “Can I leave Clara with, ehm…”

“Yes, of course.” said Robin and Michelle immediately reached out for Clara, asking her if she’d be interested in looking at pictures of her dog.

Gabriella took Robin’s seat on the partner’s table, where they usually gestured for the clients to sit when they come in for meetings. She finally removed her sunglasses and Robin saw her eyes looked puffy, as though she’d been crying for days. She looked around the shabby office, but if she had any opinion as to the state of her brother’s premises, she didn’t say.

“Your assistant…” she said, gesturing for the door, not looking at Robin. She seemed very out of sorts. “I met her at Al’s wedding.”

“Did you?” Robin feigned ignorance. “I had her fetch something for me at the party.”

“Yes, she, er… I don’t suppose she told you that she met me?” Gabriella, who looked quite distressed, but seemed to be waffling anyway. Robin knew she was working up to asking the agency to find Kristen Whitley, but she let her get through what she wanted to say anyway.

“No,” Robin lied. “What’s wrong, Gabriella? Do you need our help with something?”

Gabriella sighed, “I’ve got a friend,” she said. “Your assistant saw me with her that night… I haven’t been able to get in touch with her—” and then she shook her head, as though realising something, and then she seemed to abruptly stand up. “No, sorry—” she apologised, already heading for the door. “Silly of me, going immediately to… I’ll just—”

“Gabriella,” Robin stopped her. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I might be able to help.”

Gabriella looked at her then, wide dark eyes weary and for the first time Robin saw a bit of Cormoran in her pretty features.

“Ah…” she seemed unsure, but took steps back towards her, pulling out her phone from a handbag dangling from her wrists. She handed it to her, a photo of Kristen Whitley, blonde and long-haired and smiling was on her phone. The photo didn’t look recent. She remembered Michelle saying Kristen had been yelling she’d been Gabriella’s lover for the last two years.

“Her name’s Kristen.” said Gabriella. “Kristen Whitley. She interned at Dad’s label a couple of years ago now. Would babysit for us sometimes... she, er, I usually can get hold of her when I need her for—to babysit, but she hasn’t been responding over the weekend.”

If it were any other client, Robin and Cormoran would probe. Get the client to reveal the true nature of the relationship. There were far too many lies in Gabriella’s story, but she only knew that because they’d been tailing her when they shouldn’t have been at all. And Robin felt it unkind to get her to admit to something Robin already knew and surmised won’t be easy for Gabriella to say out loud.

Robin only nodded. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

Gabriella gave her a small smile, and then walked earnestly back to Robin’s chair, pulling out a fat purse fit to burst with cash. “I’m not sure about your rates, you haven’t got a web—” Gabriella started, pulling out some notes.

“No,” Robin protested. “Er, billing is after.” she said. She was obviously not going to take Gabriella’s money, but it seemed complicated just then to explain it.

“Oh,” said Gabriella. “Okay.” she nodded. Instead, she pulled out a card and handed it to her. “If you have anything, just call me.”

“I will.” Robin promised.

And then Gabriella hugged her. Not like the distracted, perfunctory hug she’d given her at Al’s wedding. A proper one, warm, as though to a friend she was glad to see again. “I’m really glad I met you, Robin.”


	29. Chapter 29

_You’re a pretty easy mark._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

Cormoran didn’t want to take his car, but he won’t have hope outrunning the photographers with his one leg. None of them seemed to have chased him as soon as he sped away, and he hoped they wouldn’t accost Robin as repayment.

No cases, and now he needs a place to crash. Robin would probably also need a different place to crash for a few days while this blows over. Half wishing they did spend the morning in Leicester, he was feeling that London offered him nothing but worries.

Supposing work was possibly the only thing that will help, he rang Gaspard Croft. The number he gave Strike was to his office. It was her secretary who answered, and was only equipped to take a message. “Shit.” Cormoran mumbled after hanging up. He’d been relying on being able to talk Croft into keeping his contract with them. But it seems that he isn’t the sort of man you could contact directly so easily. Ambushing him in his office wouldn’t be too impressive, and men like Croft don’t respect any hint of grovelling.

How do detectives get cases? They’ve done well with just word-of-mouth for the last four years. He imagined himself doing one of those home shopping commercials, talking in front of a camera and saying, ‘Call now and we’ll throw in a free mousepad!’

The mysterious cards then wafted in his mind. Taunting him as though they knew he was about to have a lot of free time. He could get answers. He has the time. He could call Charlotte, maybe go see her… _what are you doing, Strike?_

It wasn’t a pull of want or longing, Cormoran knew that. (When want and longing—and now worry—crossed his thoughts, it was Robin that came to mind.) It was curiosity, Cormoran knew, that was making him think of Charlotte. A systematic way forward to answer the question of, ‘what the fuck is this?’ about the cards. It was about Charlotte, so he ought to talk to Charlotte. Except Charlotte is an _effin succubus_ _who’d wring every ounce of happiness from me if I’m ever within a mile radius of her._

He parked in front of a row of red bricked houses, looking at the street across. He spots Shanker, kneeling down in the middle of the sidewalk, to the consternation of hurrying parents trying to usher their young children into a school. But Shanker didn’t seem to care, readjusting a little black girl’s Mary Janes for her.

He always thought his life seemed to diverge the exact opposite way of Shanker’s, and it manifested even in this. When Cormoran has decided, definitively, that he will be no child’s father, there Shanker was, willingly choosing fatherhood when he didn’t have to.

It still looked fucking weird to Strike, watching Shanker swoop the little girl quite the same way Rokeby scooped up his granddaughter and twirled her to make her laugh. He watched Shanker disappear into the school where a nun kindly greeted them both. Cormoran imagined the nun call him ‘Mr. Shanker’, as he now forgot what on earth his Christian name could be. His mind wandered to Leda, and what she would think of this new development in Shanker’s life. “She’d also think it’s fuckin’ weird.” he decided.

Cormoran didn’t have to wait very long. Shanker was climbing in his car and they were driving off within two minutes.

“Do you _want_ to die?” Shanker asked point-blank when Cormoran brought up the Riccis again. “Just tell me Bunsen, coz I can do you in myself. Quick and clean. Spare you from being dicked in the crapper, unless you like that now—”

“Will you just tell me?” Cormoran asked, cutting him off. He usually would shroud his interest with some pretext, and he had tried but Shanker seemed to know exactly what he was after.

“Jesus,” Shanker cursed, shaking his head. Cormoran could feel Shanker glaring at him as he drove. “You and your brother…”

“What’s he got to do with my brother?”

“Played poker and lost.” said Shanker. “Didn’t know what he got himself into, the idiot.”

“You were there?”

“Might’ve been.”

Cormoran supposed Shanker would be there to intimidate. He looked the sort of hired goon criminals would have in the background to scare people shitless. Of course, Cormoran knew well that Shanker’s capabilities were more than just for show.

“How’d they end up on the same poker table?”

“Arzamastsev’s a rock fan, turns out. He seems mates with your bruv. Hosts a high stakes poker game once in a while. The Ricci boys got an invite. Bastards moving up in the world. Your brother lost big but Luca didn’t want no money.”

“What did he want?”

“A place.” said Shanker. “Revive ol’ Little Italy. Your bruv’s got a smart restaurant, doesn’t he?”

Cormoran remembered him and Robin being turned away from the second floor of Al’s restaurant the night of her dinner party. _Shit_.

“The doctor case come up at all?”

Shanker didn’t speak.

“Mentioned me in any way? Our agency?”

Silence.

Cormoran drove for awhile longer, feeling a tension within him that made him feel like throwing up.

“I reckon your bruv’ll be fine if he keeps ‘em happy.” said Shanker. “Just don’t do it, Bunsen.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is. Whatever hero shit you’re thinking.”

Cormoran pulled over.

“Proper villains, those fuckers. Not worth it.” Shanker shook his head. “If they even think you’re moving in on them in any way, it wont be your neck they’ll come for. You know that, right?”

Shanker got out of the car.

“What are they saying?” Cormoran asked, mouth dry.

Shanker bent to look at Cormoran from the rolled down window, looking the most concerned Cormoran has ever seen him. He gave a great sigh.

“They’re talking about a pretty bird in Denmark Street.”

The conversation with Shanker was not pleasant, and he tried to tell himself that this was only confirmation of what they’ve suspected all along: that they were on the Ricci’s radar. Why the fuck do fuckers like that always go for the girl? _You know why_ , replied the voice in his head.

He rang Robin. No answer. That did not help ease his worry. She was probably on the Tube by now. He texted her to find a cafe near Notting Hill Gate station, then rang Pat who confirmed she left the office fifteen minutes ago.

Taking his mind off of worrying about Robin felt like getting up from a bed of molasses, pulling him back, impossible to think of anything else. It was agonizing to not be able to reach her, his mind going to that video of that poor woman, naked with a long scar down her ribs. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

His phone buzzed in his lap and relief now came to him with Robin texting her the name of a cafe. It helped ease his anxiety, his mind allowing for other concerns like their depleted workload to take center stage again.

Before long, Cormoran was near Notting Hill station, immediately spotting Robin leaning against a wall, attention on her phone. He told her to meet him inside the coffee shop, but instead she was loitering outside. It came to him like it was happening in real life: the image of a van pulling up in front of her, grabbing her off the street. Wouldn’t matter if it was broad daylight, if it was in front of busy shops, if the foot traffic was heavy. If they wanted her, they’d get her.

And then that video of that poor woman again, hooded, naked, likely whimpering for mercy even at the very end. He tried to shake off the terror, jogging the few steps as though to get to Robin quicker. He felt the pressure against the end of his stump.

She spots him finally and she beams and even in the worry, he felt lighthearted at her delight. He manages a smile as he looks down at her beautiful face. He presses his lips to hers and for a split-second, he imagined them to be normal. Two perfectly ordinary people without mobsters on their tail.

Robin immediately picks up on his mood. “You okay?”

He digs around for something. Anything. “Croft isn’t interested.” he said, putting his arm around her and he feels her clutch behind at his coat. “I thought we said we’d meet inside the cafe?” he asked, trying to mask his annoyance and worry. He looks around, trying to conjure a superhuman sense that would allow him to see any harm coming at them. He knows there will be nothing, but he’s paranoid anyway.

Grave as though Shanker looked, Cormoran thought he knew danger was not yet imminent. It was just confirmation that they were on Ricci’s radar and Cormoran already knew they would be. But it rattled him. Not fucking mobsters. He isn’t fucking Batman. He can’t wipe them out himself. To stay safe is to stay away.

“Cormoran?”

“Huh?” he said, realising now that Robin had been talking to him.

“I said Two-Times is paid up for the month so we’re good for cashflow. What’s wrong?”

Women are always quick on the uptake, and almost reading too much into the slightest change of mood or facial expression. Women detectives, doubly so.

“Really thought I could talk Croft into taking us back.” he lied.

Robin didn’t seem to believe him, but no matter, they were already at Daniella’s door.


	30. Chapter 30

_My wife takes pills and I drink.  
_ _That’s the bargain we’ve struck._

Tracy Letts  
 _August: Osage County_

They knocked on the three storey white detached house with a teal door. There seems to be sounds inside, construction.

They knocked again. Cormoran was just about to ring Daniella when someone called him from the little alleyway separating the house from the one next to it.

“Over here!” Daniella gestured for them and they walked up to her. “We’re having the main house renovated,” she explained. “We’re staying in the guest house right now.”

They walked further into the alleyway down towards a sprawling garden area that had a pavilion-like structure in the middle of it, two of its four walls built with glass and the frames of the structure in striking rose gold. Robin knew it was a signature of Rose & Roke, Daniella’s jewellery company.

It almost felt like they’d been transported away from Notting Hill into the country, with how it was able to hide the signs of old London where it resided. The sitting room was nearly bare, save for a large white sectional and a large-scale modern art piece leaning against one wall. The ceiling, too, was immense and surprising: a copper dome that led up to a square skylight overhead. It was like walking into a mini British Museum than someone else’s house.

And then it wasn’t even her house! Daniella apologised profusely at having to receive them here for the meantime. Robin has been exposed to her fair share of wealth during the course of her work as a detective, but she didn’t quite know why it affected her somehow the state of Daniella’s home and then thinking about how very little Cormoran took home from his own business.

Cormoran himself was looking around surreptitiously as though on the lookout if Rokeby won’t suddenly leap out to corner her in a conversation.

During Al’s wedding Daniella and her wife, Gabriella, took him aside to invite him over to their place. Initially reluctant because despite his curiosity for his siblings, he wasn’t really sure he was all that interested in forging Al-like relationships with the rest of the Rokebys. But their demeanour then told him that they were coming to him not because he’s an estranged sibling, but because he’s a detective.

Taking on Daniella as a client was not ideal, especially not after how they got tangled up with Gabriella in the last month, but unless four other people capable of paying detective rates ring them with work, this was the agency’s way forwards.

On a table just by the entrance he spotted them: three crisp white envelopes, precisely the same ones his nutter letters came in, were stacked on top of each other and bearing Daniella’s name in elegant script.

Whoever’s trying to blackmail Cormoran was blackmailing Daniella, too.

Daniella Rokeby, from what Robin knew, was one of American activist Carla Astolfi’s daughters. Robin’s mum, who was a bit of a women’s libber, had a framed _Times Magazine_ cover tucked away in her father’s study, of Astolfi with her fist up, mid-yell at a rally as she held a feeding baby to her breast.

Daniella herself was a hip and popular jewellery designer and Robin has seen her in pages of society magazines or Fashion Week clips. She exuded the air of someone who seemed very cool, with her mop of dark curly hair, her oversized sweater and boxy shorts that made her look boyish but in a chic way. Robin, who thought of her own fashion sense mostly as ‘appropriate’, envied out-of-the-box fashionability in people.

If Dani seemed to favor androgyny for her own look (she was in a suit at Al’s wedding) her wife, Georgina, was in a busy, floor-length floral dress that seemed to dwarf her small stature. Her face, as Robin already thought seeing her for the first time last Friday, was very striking. Delicate, flaw-free features that was quite enviable as she didn’t seem to be wearing any make-up.

They’re fostering to adopt an infant named Amy who looked about six or seven months old, and whose pudgy arms had been reluctantly squeezed by Cormoran when Georgina introduced the baby to her ‘Uncle Corm’. After the initial meeting, the baby was spirited away by a haughty, blonde au pair Robin hoped was much warmer than her initial impression.

Twenty minutes into their visit, Dani and her wife have yet to reveal what they needed help with, predictably asking them about the Bamborough case and now the Van Der Pol case that unfolded over the weekend. Dani was the chattier of the two, although with an air of purposely dilly-dallying an uncomfortable subject. Georgina, who seemed animated with her child, turned immediately timid and allowed Dani to speak for her for most of the conversation.

When Dani asked how long Cormoran and Robin have been together, Cormoran took it as an opening to firmly revert them back to the matter at hand.

“You mentioned last Friday that you received weird cards?” he prompted. Dani and Georgina looked at each other before Georgina finally stood up, took crisp white envelopes from a small nearby table and handed it to them.

Cormoran took them, eyebrows knotting. One of them seemed thicker than the others, as though it had a protrusion at near center. Cormoran opened one of the thin ones and inside was the exact same one he has: ’I know your secret. Your dirty little secret’ in red font against white card stock. Inside of it was a string of numbers in one line and then another right below it six numbers: 24 12 14. Christmas Eve.

He took the other thin card. Same thing. But where Cormoran’s only said ‘How much is this secret worth to you?’, Daniella’s had a slight difference: ‘How much is Carmilla’s secret worth to you?’, it said.

He looked back inside the envelope. It was empty. “This thing come with anything else?”

Daniella looked at Georgina before shaking her head. “No. Those two cards had nothing else in them. That other one,” she pointed at the thicker one Cormoran hadn’t yet opened. “Has a message recorded inside it, but it’s distorted.”

Cormoran pulled it out now. Same card, empty inside, but now the empty room was filled with the disintegrating racket of a garbled voice. Cormoran shut it closed again, just to brace himself better to listen. Unlike his card which he’d only opened three times, Dani’s have clearly had a lot of plays.

“Mind if we record it?” Robin asked, phone already out and tapping for her phone’s recorder. Cormoran hadn’t yet mentioned he also got this second correspondence. They were rowing when it came, and then preoccupied with work, and then preoccupied with other things.

Dani shook her head.

Cormoran waited for Robin to hit record before flipping the card open again and the space was filled with screeching.

_“You think you can have it all, but you can’t. You won’t. Carmilla. Carmilla. Carmilla. They could still take her. She could still be taken. How much are their lives worth to you, Rokeby? A million pounds? Two million for two people?”_

He let it play until it stopped, spluttering noisily until the end.

Robin was itching to ask who or what Carmilla was, but she knew that would be the layman’s first question.

Cormoran laid the cards down the coffee table, thick one in the middle. He pointed at one card, the one that first mentioned ‘Carmilla’. “When did you get this?”

Dani and Georgina looked at each other again, and then Dani shrugged, “Esther handed it to us when she finally cleared the mailbox slot at the main house before the builders removed it.”

Cormoran dug around his coat for his notepad and pen, starting to take notes.

“And Esther is?”

“Um, she’s our housekeeper, but I’ve known her my whole life. She was my nanny growing up.” said Dani, as though the technical term ‘housekeeper’ was insufficient to explain who the Esther woman is.

“Uh-huh. And she handed all three at the same time?”

“Yeah, we don’t really check the mail.” Dani smiled, a little as though she’s never had to get her own mail ever, in her life. Cormoran desisted from rolling his eyes. “When did she hand these to you?”

“Last Friday morning. Day of Al’s wedding.”

“Would you mind if we talk to Esther?” Cormoran asked. Dani and Georgina exchanged looks. “We just want to know in case she saw something, anything. Maybe someone slotting something in your door, or if she was actually handed one of these cards.”

“No, it’s not that,” said Dani, heading him off. “You can talk to Esther of course, but we gave her a few weeks off because of the reno’s on the main house. Siobhan—” said Dani, gesturing towards the inner parts of the house, indicating perhaps the nanny, “She’s been helping us out here with Amy. It’s a much smaller space, not a lot needs doing. Anyway, we sent Esther home because she hasn’t been home in years.”

Years told Cormoran Esther was no longer local.

This was baffling him in a way that was almost agitating. Other than the Rokebys, there was no point of convergence between Cormoran and Daniella’s lives except… but that only posed more questions than answers.

“Do you know anyone who’d have reason to blackmail you?” he asked.

Cormoran saw Dani hold on to her wife’s hand clutching her shoulder upon hearing ‘blackmail’. “No.” she shook her head.

He went back to the taunting recording. _Carmilla. They could still take her._

“The baby—your baby, is she Carmilla?” he asked. Dani’s face who looked worried suddenly fell, giving him a look of disbelief that he had already forgotten her daughter’s name.

“Corm,” she said. “You _just_ met her. Her name’s Amy.”

Before Cormoran could snipe back that he well remembered that the baby had been introduced as Amy, and that he was obviously asking pertinent questions, and that he was there trying to effin help, Georgina finally spoke in a voice so timid, she repeated herself.

“I’m Carmilla. I’m Carmilla.”

“Georgie—” Dani protested.

“It’s okay, Dani. If he’s going to help us, he needs to know.” Georgina turned to both Cormoran and Robin, taking a deep breath, fists clenched to her sides. She looked like a child. “Carmilla is my vampire name. I’m a vampire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thirty days of thirty chapters and I’m *only* getting to the plot!
> 
> I just want to thank everyone who has tuned in to this story. I know it’s a little long and ambitious and it’s taking its time so I really appreciate that people have gotten this far with me! Hopefully once it’s done, it will be something you’d find that was worth your time.
> 
> I’m going on hiatus with this one but rest assured, when it starts back up again, I promise another month of daily posts! 
> 
> P.S. I think if you shmash that bookmark button it’ll email you when I start updating again. *wink*


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